The warmth, and the quiet, a rock in my hand.
If there was another place, I wouldn’t go.
The maiden, the mother, and the crone call to me.
Across the expanse, and the material.
Eleven, Eleven. There are too many signs, so I acquiesce.
The fire burns as I lay sleepless, yet still.
The answers come slowly, so I attend again.
The many aspects fold through the day,
He spreads his salty wings and glides into the future.
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