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Bellows from below

That my racing mind could keep the pace of the electricity moving in my veins.

Gathering moments whole like threads to be woven into each landscape of my heart's desire.

Memories from this lifetime, too young to draw from and send forth.

To build the world that lives inside of the four walls of all this longing.

This box, a room with no floor and no ceiling.

Still so carefully hidden from view.

I slip in from above, or from below.

To hold vigil with the darkest of hopes and hidden things.

To be the woman who lives in the sea with a cavern full of treasures.

To stand at the cliff’s edge with the wind raging against my body.

Candles flicker, we are all cursed here.

We sing its praises, we go to work.

We are the bellows and the fire, we cannot lie still.

© Elizabeth McLaughlin


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