As the moon is to me
A father to you.
I was born of the cold
Wet earth of Europe
And when I breathe you in
I remember the grass felt
Like putting my feet on soft kittens.
The earth, moist, moving, always growing
Heaving with spirit and birth
And then still, as winter slid within us.
It is as if the mind
Concocts new ways to hurt you
By reminding you
What desert is.
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