the moon opens and there is thunder in my gut.
"speak to me, goddess", but there are no words.
I weep for things unseen.
Lost. I am a fog, misted across wisps of smoke
twisted sacrament, blistering.
I turn and take and pour and scream
I am still whole.
the ground taunts me with closeness and wind weaves through my fingers
I reach for her to take my skin and make me silver.
This is the game we play: vangrants cast
sovereign states pushed near by wounds and time
destined for places yet seen.
we are One, gathered here in secret.
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