When I am torn and taken by man’s and sun's talons, I, writhing small, squalling tears; a blessing light descends and beckons from my holy place, the garden. When I am torn and taken I return to the nesting place, cushioned by the rays of a golden eye, curled inward round the echo of a white womb; my soul spreads alar, barred from nothing needed I slip gently from the thrall of flesh and crisis.
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