The beat of a heart, the wail of an angry giant.
Some summers hold stories of salamanders.
I lie in the dark remembering god in the bowl of my belly.
I lie in the dark hoping to forget demons who spin webs of fear
From dreams of love.
Now a light is coming on.
Nothing is more precious than any other thing,
not beating, not wailing,
not hearts, not giants,
angry or otherwise.
There is no summer, nor story, nor salamander more precious,
No darkness, nor lying in it.
No bowl or belly,
No hoping, no forgetting,
No tangle of demons more hopeful
Than dreams of love.
Than love.
In this, so simply is the miracle.

Kitty Parsons

Split Lit: Watership Down And Out
Split Lit: Watership Down And Out In Paris and London