At first, one might feel that faith is merely a product of love.
The night lies just like the rest of us. I hope for a day when the crops don’t fail
but we also get to rest.
You make elegant circles through the field. I’ve made
a religion out of waiting.
Letting night be night and love
be what it is. What happens between air and light, between moon
and hayfield? Not settling for a partial theory,
I devour love whole.
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