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Marian Webb
26th September 2013, 02:30 PM
they ate the Sabbath grain.

The women came,
one with her jar of nard.

In the leaves they breathe
of Galilee and Jerusalem
in tongues of flame
secretly

seeing though unseen
and knowing though unknown
of all things made and then unmade

like garments worn though never felt
next to the skin,
they travel time eternally.

Mother, daughter, sister, wife
scantly named

Maryam.



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