It’s pouring in clear sheets outside in the dark, and the trees’ branches are like many arms in a wild dance with the wind… The sound of the water falling, making contact with earth and with my dwelling makes me content. I feel clean and whole inside. I pray this is not the last day of this storm — what Glory!
Your thousand limbs rend my body.
This is the way to die:
Beauty keeps laying
Its sharp knife
c. Mary Kathryn Gough, journal excerpt fall ’05