Full moon. Chill night.
Clouds clatter across fathomless clear sky.
A blackbird calls from its sleep, a descant
To the rush of streams in snowmelt spate.
Watery voices reach out:
Snatches of phrases
Twisted in the wind;
Truths beyond grasp.
Ancient pagan creatures dance
Through the slender torn limbs of winter trees:
Budded hands clutch at the stars in ecstasy.
I am intoxicated this night:
My eyes a crazy paving of divination.
This tongue has tasted
Beyond the essence of knowledge,
Beyond the crawling,
The crying and the craving:
There is perfect certainty.
The gods are sleeping in heavenly beds,
Dreaming that all is well with the world.
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