Mr. Strange and Beautiful has drawn a chain of storms to himself.
I gather him into my lap, kiss the tops of his knuckles and sing,

“listen to my heartbeat in your throat, most loved

I am inside of you like a memory, not a malady.

Gentle as the hearth of soil where we first rested.”

These words were scrambled soft with sleep, but I know he heard me.

Yes, my love is the wind song. It is the “Forever” inescapable, curious, rude, loud, and present.

It has always traveled barefoot for you and in doing so has found 37 different interpretations of the square-spherical Earth, its shape, what it can be, can’t be, was, is, or isn’t

From space it doesn’t really matter.

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