Jennifer Courtney Lord
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The Harrow In The Midst
Through many lives, a soul goes
in search for its deepest marsh. The narrow; for that wheel-a life
spent training, in the midst. Points to the unseen self-
Crouched like two wood elves—
dozing. Blind as the fool's heart.
Makes a thing and then goes,
changing. He strikes!
Only when the timber start. With all the air,
And, more than that. He strikes on, without a counterpart.
Till, his mood changes, and boils.
For, Looking up aware—somehow grew.
For the true things' sake. A voice less loud, I hear. Where-in am, I to cast?
Where-in am, I to lie? Of...