fondly affectionate in equal measures towards all religion and war
as we roam the wilderness and dust, ever, universe-bound,
across all the roads of the world that bend towards our bodies,
what name will you give
to these question marks, moonlit and stout,
that sweep softly along the dark brows of time?
and what name will you give to the banshee-child
that weeps softly by a secret little pond
where all the fishes, frogs and lilies have always known that all magic has ever been real?
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