The word translucent itself
Has foxed and almost vanished.
One match could erase the rest.
The page on which the magic
Fades is only pulped paper.
That's why the spell has power.
The page can't know what it holds,
Can't protect it, can't conceive
What trace could need protecting.
Whispers are always slender
Reeds rattling in a loud wind.
The veil of snow, paper white
Or completely imagined,
Appears and recedes again.
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