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The suffering that is a presence in you
Is the space of a world without a star
(Or the freedom of aloneness and desire).
Violence is a strange, immensely human act:
It is within you as much as love.
To rise then, with the ungolden dead, to swim
Back into the uncreated: this is the idealism
Of your nature; this inner-motion of prayer.
Outside, the trees are noiseless in winter.
You strip yourself of other people, their sharp,
Sterile glitter; like salt.
