After several days of grim clouds shouldering each other, the rains have arrived where you live. You feel renewed. There are few things you’re as good at as you are at looking at clouds (or at the sea). You were not at all good at confronting your shame and vulnerabilities, but you’re slowly inching your way there. Much is quiet and white around you. The heart no longer feels scuppered and exposed, no longer a thing on the dining table. A white homecoming. Books and verses open themselves up to you and you gently sit in their pods for a while. When the news floods in and fury surges within, you think of the following lines:
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