Of love, changed direction
Thick, in a sequence of days
standing bare hovering over
the frail and the tenderhearted
bruised by the storms in the tally
of seasons. May the laying of hands
glide both over and under the free
and the rooted ones, soothing
even the most violated of branches
while the colorful join wings
in the procession flying off
traceless, beyond the outlines
of meadow and morning
a triology gathers, shedding
a groundful of feather and petal
in the haze of farewell along
with a diary long in your letters
of love, changed direction.
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