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Summer

I am waiting for the sun.
The worst of the black night
has come and gone. Let begin
the passing of a new light.

This is the twilight,
where things that emerge are seen
but never to be touched still.
Delayed substance. I have been

patient. Led by the hand
of an other, I have been
blind. Eyes slowly opening,
relearning being. Can

you see that this is new
to me who never knew what
suffering was supposed to do?
Remember, remember?

She killed me last summer.
No one expects the dead
to walk again. But the slumber
has--it has to--come to an end.

What the light will show
the night did know.
Blessed are those who believe
what they still could not receive.

This is the taint in the blood
I was given. Part melancholy,
part insanity. But still wholly:

the cross on which I am crucified,
the height from which I fly.

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