Struggling not to be re-dreamed
By another morning
By the holy spirit of morning
So solemn and discrete
Setting every twig on fire
What language are you speaking
Proprietary and patronizing
Dim music of the spheres
As if morning didn’t own us
As if the sun wasn’t our first step
Into these bodies of flesh and blood
Fresh with new ideas old despairs
Out of those other worlds
Of dreaming light
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