IN THE HEYDAYS OF HIS EYES
(taut jeans dancing)

An Anthology of Poetry about Being Young and Growing Up
 
 
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STEPANSDOM

Arden Fortenberry

Light dances through stained glass. A mixture of dust and incense. An ancient Gothic requiem arises, thick with mourning, reverberating off stone walls. For centuries priests have stood, glinting gold trays of communion wafers in hand. Waiting to place one crisp circle on my tongue.

 
 
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