Green bays, white feathers
Palms in the air, clouds on the sleeping mountains
And through the valley ranging
The black, skinny dogs with beryl eyes
And the rushing of leaves and the straining branches
A boat from the island of memory
In calm waves the color rises
To the plume hanging over the ships and harbor lights
As the ashes fall on us
Like snow from the clouds of another life
Like a dusting of white on the rocks and the branches
In daylight, so strange and mild

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