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Sur Les Etolies
Flying home from Montreal found myself superior,
having seen the bend of the earth.
These cities and towns have stolen stars from my sky.
Lumen plucked from vast heaven's orchard
tossed shallow along thin valleys beaded
rolling, are threaded as rivers, below this altitude.
The sun nailed low to the night,
burns out, eclipsed on the horizon
by this unanchored perch, amazed to see
how far man has come.
God less glorious, becomes ordinary on final descent.
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