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My words stand petrified in the snow-laden branches
of the cherry tree outside my window – words that will not reveal
my undying love for you and living thirst for us – words that cannot
utter my longing for one breath beneath your heaven – words that remain
imprisoned in feelings – words that seek the heights of Arctic blue –

But not only those words are mine – my words are also rows upon rows
of honey-stricken sighs that dropped from my heart into
the heart of the earth – my words are folded raindrops lest
the birds read them – my words have lost their edges in the winds
of the decades – my words are squeezed between the spaces
of lifetimes – frozen in a time when the sun was not split into two –

All these words and other words cleave to the cherry tree – when
spring blossoms will thaw the snow, the words will ride
on the back of a seagull – they will fly across the
restless blue Atlantic – and reach you with their soul intact.

I cannot trust the email to carry my words faithfully…

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