Emily Dickinson – He fumbles at your Soul – (poem 315)


he fumbles at your soul as players at the keys before they drop for music on he stuns you by degrees prepares your brittle nature for the third goal by fainter hammers further hurt and learn and so strong your breath has time to strengthen your brain to bubble for eels one in burial Thunderbolt that scubs unique soon when moons take forests in their clothes the universe [Music]

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