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I’m not sure what I dream about anymore –
there is the song, written and then forgotten,
there is the matter of home, wherever that is,
there is the love that I was banking on, and he
found a life in another land.  

Where does it come from, the new vision,
and how will it arrive?

I have sat at the altar and prayed.
I have dyed my hands in ink and waited
in the meantime for the muse.
I have built a home within myself.
I have, in the meantime, loved others.
I have filled my body with straw and string
ready to turn to fire at any time.