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The Invention of Free Verse Poetry
All she could recall was that it had been beautiful
  in fact, that was all she could say for certain:
  it had been a strange thing
a very strange thing
  Shooting stars, silver wounds, quick-finned fish that darts
  back and forth
  weaves
  through and about
  That was all she could recall,
  but it was powerful, brighter than the sun
  and the moon
  more moving than a song,
  or words.
And that was all -
because, well when the night settled in
breathing heavy, a fanged animal
that was all there was left
that sparked, and she knew it
And it knew her, that strange thing.
That very strange thing.
Good-bye it whispered, but no words came
from shimmering scales
and mouthless features, and that
was it.

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