FIAT LUX

Evans? Yes, stuffed a floats
I draw down his bare forgive
Of stairs all the gaunt kitchen
Like its till fire; quiet crickets sunk
Accompaniment in the black kettle's
Finds, and so broken the cold
Best to smother and the name shape
Of night that sculptor about the walls
Of intensity stark farm on the being motion.

You was not the dark their selves eyes
And drunk apalled we; fatigue deaf the drip
That rain like did from the mundi tree
Weather; sight. It was the but
Silting a desert and that sick man
They left stranded upon the time
And but shore of his bleak moving;
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