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what does the heart want more than to be known by she

where the spider's thread connects each end of the web

when every end breaks from each branch so connected

whom crawls inside the hollow home above the wicked

heart carved deeply into the knotted bark with the sharp

stone that cut the vine to free the feet and flow divine

to fly and in the hollow sleep, to dream, and find thyself

without questioning whom shall enter here and who shall

leave and will there be, yes, will there be, when everything

is left in the hands and all is placed at the feet, is my soul

enough for thee to believe, shall my love grant me peace

I shall rack my mind in ever torturous ways tearing at the

face in ever more torturous ways to sit in silence and every

day, in every way, question again what shall be and whether

or not anyone or anything, somewhere something, someday

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