there is an incredible richness of being
rooted and nourished
by all that dies, fecundity arising
from that which ceases to dance.
there is a rustle in the heart
hibernating passions stirring in dreams
that haunt us when we wake, moving
through a world that tells us never to wake again.
there is a deepening into
my own cracked and crevased, wind
whistling through a heart gone crystalline
and hallowed by a fire that consumes, utterly.
all i am, as i am,
passes into, passes through.
footprints on an Earth
that never really ceases dancing.

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