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Hear! My Beloveds Hear me singing in the dust. Mine is a voice caught in a web of time and place. As I go down to that river and cross over to lie down with my sisters I will sing a new song. From my mountain top I look down and see my death Calmly, I descend to meet it. Powerful as living, in my communion with life, I have consumed the host of pain in unflagging drafts, tenacious as my passion for love. And, my Beloveds, I am true to my passions. There are lost loves abandoned loves new loves and dead loves still singing from the grave. Beloveds, out of my dust, I tell you of one life, particular and peculiar, set in time and place and not long enough to dry the springs of love. And, if in winding sheets, I am still singing, My voice will send praise into the air into the sky into the forests and glens. Saying: All glory to the time and life Praise be to the pleasure and the pain the wounding And healing. And, my loves, even knowing that life is brief and the end is always death, I would say yes again yes to life yes to flesh that burgeons and decays and ask again to die. |
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