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A song through the wind to my ears. Robin withdraws from spatting sparrows to tiptoe through white air. Wordless, sparks in mist, crystal airwaves of the morning sky land on my hood. I sense your presence, unseen and formless. Or is it here I see you?

Low branches, laden with snow rich as cream, point and sway like accusatory fingers as I pass. I remember then those pews of my youth, where I once sat hunched and unmoved. Those words could not tame me.

Now, wings lift her body branch to branch, head bowed at berries, as I hunger for your words and close my eyes in prayer.

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