When we look in
from the dark,
the window's light
is
cruel; when a body
becomes transparent
as leaf veins held
against a glowing sky
and struck by its beauty...
we sacrifice
our
hidden
future.
Who shuts out
the cold by dying?
Who feeds the mind
with grains of
night?
If our weight
becomes the same
as thunder, as infinite
as the shadowed hills,
if we look away
from suicidal stars,
the burning arc
of
nature's will-
we come away
with
nothing. 
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