Perhaps this is what love is for:
to live then die then live again.
Once, alone in perceiving self;
Now, hand is in the hand of nature.
Once, out of place with what seemed good;
Now, eyes see a leaf's veins as my own blood reservoir.
To know that our hearts beat
as the seasons beat
Life and Death and Life again
is good.
(Sometimes) love must end to birth resurrection.
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