When my howling mind needs a full moon
Or bloody bone that it can chew on
I pick a magic phrase or random piece
Of bird-song to fasten on
Repeating it over and over
Until it takes on a life of its own
And a picture starts to form
Of total darkness a warm
Soup of infinite movement
At the farthest outpost of myself
Where I am nothing and no one
But where you might be waiting
With a cup of cool water
And a smile on your face
You source of all kindness
Having traveled so far
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