“The Longest Night.”


Now listen to your broken heart.
Fall into the wound and bathe
in the balm of midnight.
Don’t follow a star.
Let your root find sap
in the blackest loam.
What are countless golden petals
or the fragrance of myrrh
compared to the yearning
of the shadow for its cause?
Birthless seeds are singing
beneath all that rises and falls.
When you are truly silent
you will hear them bursting
through the long good night,
until you are healed
by your loss.

— Fred LaMotte


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