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| A Song for Conjuring Shelter Do you not believe the stories the wind tells you? Breaking against the shore of itself, a battery of dark birds illuminated by the body of the world? I want to remember the rain most of all, how it plummits into the small houses of gods and looks out over the hands of trees, whose gestures are soft shapes beneath the current. Come in from the rain, come in my Sweet before the lightning takes you, that embrace, all that life wanting in, wanting to part the river inside you. I can carry on, one body held together by pins; I can draw maps and set foot on the geography of dreams. I can bow humbly to my failures, offer up tabacco and bread, And even in the coldest pocket of sky, even in the dullest ache of bone or spine, I can hold what is mine, what will always be mine, in all the faces of the midnight moon. ~Midnight Sun |