If it is pouring holy-well filled sky,
Tilt to the grey,
Open, gaping mouth-wide
Swallow the Heavens,
Dig up your lungs, bury them alive
to worship the sun
From neck to breast
Breast to tip
Fingers to sockets, femurs to ribs
Feel the porous marrow groan,
Inflated with all the offerings cold,
Prey for rain, and snow, and hail,
Worship the sun
And memories gold
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