Sometimes I cannot learn
any truth for a whole day
until a bird insists
with repetition from its tree
that I listen
and float in her sound far away;
until my heart dances
in clouds high and free
and slows. Then I can
release a little pain
and follow my heart. My fist
opens into to a palm. See
how real I am. No longer a trickster
- a butcher, baker, candlestick maker.
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