I love the dark hours of my being.
My mind deepens into them.
There I can find, as in old letters,
the days of my life, already lived,
and held like a legend, & understood.
...
Then the knowing comes: I can open
to another life that’s wide & timeless.
So I am sometimes like a tree
rustling over a gravesite
& making real the dream
of the one its living roots
embrace:
a dream once lost
among sorrows & songs
............................Why are we whispering
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