My mind deepens into them.
There I can find, as in old letters,
the days of my life, already lived,
and held like a legend,
and understood.
Then the knowing comes:
I can open
to another life that’s wide and timeless.
So I am sometimes like a tree
rustling over a gravesite
and making real the dream
of the one its living roots
embrace:
a dream once lost
among the sorrows and songs.
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