No terror seeds in my soul. The gentle dust of my mother remains all around me. Her old comforts snuggle away any regrets until our heavens meet. Not soon, but soon enough I will remain with you. Why will I decay in the crypt when only smoke can rise to joy? That cloudy mass that rises from burning, burns tears beyond the wear of silk and refines them beyond crib clouds and all my earlier abodes. I let my memory carve your bruises to ivory. All your terrors disperse in my coming smoke. I am sheltered from death.
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