I know of warmth—I myself
once in a golden field with the sun.

But now the cold night is a high abyss calling
and I am breathing
vertical blackness drawing
truth shining all knife I am singing
spine of hunger.

You are emptiness, and I fill you.
Silence: I speak you.
I love you, I who am also lost to being
but for a glint of ice at the edge of nothing.
Now I may love you completely,
who am like you in cold, still, blackness—
blessing beyond dread.

They say warmth and the field of sun, and I may not deny it,
but hope is a seed and time is nothing to the night.

The moon is cold.
I pray the sky.

Keep close—
burn me.

portrait on brick Conrad Martin loves words for their ability to create deeper awareness and experience of life through connection between minds and hearts.

Photography by Kenneth Godoy

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