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Archive for April 2nd, 2010

You said hello, before you considered what those words could uncover.
You jumped in, before learning how to swim.
You ran and hid away from the terror of the dark, just as the dawn was breaking.
You grew vacant when the silence became deafening.

I know, in my language, that the sun shines brighter because of you.
The rain tastes sweeter when you are walking in it.
The air feels richer, when you are breathing it beside me.

I know that, when you knocked and I answered, the unexpected gift before me was one to cherish, protect and care for.
That the package consisted of somewhat fragile parts, held together with chewing gum, wrinkles and rubber bands.
I held it in my hands like an orphaned bird, set my eyes upon it and drank it in.
I recognized it from 1000 years of my past.

My hands were not safe enough for this delicate eggshell bird.
So, I placed it in my heart and sang songs of Whitman and Neruda to it.
I carry its heart in my heart, like ee cummings

The root, the bud, the tree of life under the great sky
I carry this bird of chewing gum, of wrinkles, of rubber bands
in my gateless, cageless, sanctuary of a heart.

A place of abundance,
A place of lazy days and long contented drunken silences
punctuated by faraway bird songs.

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