Deceive me, heart
and weep as if the world
will pity what we've lost.
How vulnerable are the stars
whose eyes cut out, whose
feet are bleeding. Now
who will feed them?
And the frozen wolf
whose silver hair a nest
of ice and mud, compare
his hunger to our love,
the cold, the fear, the constant
hunting. How quickly
he grabs the throat
and kills.
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