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Surrender
This long road:
neck arched as the heron's
to seek through spanish moss on forest fingers
where silver throated owl makes song
and larvae of the spirit
work in silence to make a new world.
Oh, fertile darkness where misery sulks
a drunken shadow with no attachment
and moist earth trembles toward the light
that glows regardless of all suns.
All the while the heart full knowing
thumps its way to the pull of the lodestar.
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