Love is not the messenger spirit
it was heralded to be. Not the connection
between the mortal and immortal.
Tonight I have too many minds.
The ties that have kept me to the air
are now strained too fine even to be
called gossamer. They are disappeared.
Torn under the stress of my intention.
Pieces clinging to me but also to my lovers.
That wasn't what I meant to say at all.
From where I'm sitting rain . . . .
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