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Mama Wolf,
Howling in my dreams,
pulling the blood from my limbs
and demanding I speak in fire and ashes.

My heartbeat
holds the coals
of your death,
blanketed down for the winter,
when the storms will rage yet again,
and the need for fire will outweigh
the fear of the rebirth.

Three times we die
and three times we are reborn.
This
and this
and this again
remakes us in your image.
The smoke and the flame and the ashes,
the dreams and the passions and the tears.

Speak to me in my mother tongue
and I will howl into the night.

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