Even on cold gray mornings like these
The dead who have been busy
In our dreams all night
Slip out into the meager light
Resuming their work and restless play
In wings and leaves and rocks
In the very colors of things
But mostly in the eager wind
Where they push through tirelessly
Mining our minds more coal than gold
Unrecognized appearances
They make piercing the invisible
Darkness where we survive
On the starlight of their love
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