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You and I have spoken all these words, but as for the way we have to go, words are no preparation. I have one small drop of knowing in my soul. Let it dissolve in your ocean. Inside of us, there is continual autumn. Our leaves fall and are blown out over the water. A crow sits in the blacken limbs and talks about what is gone. Then your generosity returns: Spring, moisture, intelligence, the scent of hyacinth and rose and cypress. Very little grows on jagged rock. Be warm soil. Be crumbled, so wildflowers will come up where you are. You have been stony for too many years. Surrender. Try something different.
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