Wednesday, March 07, 2012

Thousand: Six Hundred Eighty

at this new figure. He (or she?) gleams moon-bright, but, even in this dark night, she doesn’t squint against his light. The light soothes. The light enters her heart and warms it. She takes a deep breath of the chill desert air and feels warm. Ah, I see, she thinks, amused, I am dying of hypothermia. I read that when you stop shivering you feel at peace with the world. I must have skipped totally over the shivering. Or maybe the going to bed. The angel takes her hand and draws her along the road. He must be humming, the

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