I have seen your quiet deliberation
the push to conquer,
the desire of simplistic,
the dyed-wool yearning
of an anachronism;
whirlwind of a summer storm
with intrinsic winter disposition.
In forests and fields
you faced your fears
and have taught yourself
which truth
is worth believing in;
what else is left
for you here
but the name
of your ancient ache
and the quite longing
for understanding?
Your hands tame animals
and your eyes
cow demons.
You are more
than all the ways the flesh
has restrained you.

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