Sunday, April 28, 2013


To be undivided must mean not knowing you are.
                       J. Hirshfield, After "Pocket of Fog",                                                                                                                   
This high dizzy bliss, so lost in primal love, all together
melted into a wind of music, bright herons soaring home,
rocking in Eden,    
        that prehensile tail I was never given


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