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for Franziska
My ribs are the flying buttresses
Of a cathedral not stone but bone
As in and out as ever it was
The wind of the spirit's way is shown
In the rhythm of the persistence
Of a living temple though of clay
My insistence on my existence
Only a heartbeat one breath away
Through life to death but here between
The beat goes on of what I mean
+Steven Curtis Lance
Copyright MMXIV
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