In the beginning, the earliest sign
without announcement or celebration,
we come here vestigial,
blindfolded, unformed winged
in celibate silence.
There are no white horses
waiting in the distance
just wild sounds
of darkness following
the first small steps
towards fire.
The flame transforms the blossom,
opening, ripening
bursting. Then like thieves
Death's large birds collect
their seeds.
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