Confounded

What about the weight of the world,/the whole world shows up on your doorstep:/ fixing the battered lantern shade/ by the tramway and passage running lights flashing, /certain tunnels electric, /picking up the pace, in a rush,/ wearing garlands bought from  sinners/in an orchard picked clean by gentle labor:/ of faces, and fuses, opposite the gardens,/In a solemn winter you unlocked my heart/forced the flowers seeded in my skeleton/ to bloom in the Spring,/remembered by those of the lake/who warble in their lungs/ melt my cold  heart like beeswax

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