The world has not yet begun to betray 
the beginnings of its latest resurrection but 
deep in the center, it moves, and so
do I. Expressionless and untouchable 
the great surge of life to come
 — seethes at the boundaries of the icy crust — 
 — seethes at the boundaries of my skin — 

And unable to release it by sweat or words or actions
I thrash, caught by the waves
of energy, trapped by time that 
has not yet come. It, I, we
will be released, but
not soon enough, and together
we pace our prison.

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