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Oh my darling, child of autumn, dance with me in wooden shoes
Along the edge of what once was and what soon could be
See you in my prayers
In the limn of sunlight behind a gleaming statue
The voice of a silver cross told me I was no saint
But tell me, beloved, when your hands are coated in blood
What difference does it make if it is your own or someone else’s?
Oh dusk-lit child, drape yourself in the red-brown-gray of a winter twilight
Gild your hair in copper
And teach me that fire and light are one and the same
Won’t you twirl with me between what is known and what should be forgotten
And catch me when I fall to either side
Hear my hymns
From the edge of the forest where the small things scurry and the shadows walk
And sing my refrain in a silence born of snow
My darling unholy child
Won’t you teach me what it is to be sacred
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