II. (closing)

If I said that I missed you, 

If I said that I still thought of you

smiling across the rug

peering down shrouded corridors

between feathers

bird seed

or prints in soil

it would be true. 

We always feel so different, 

our unfamiliar ropes

fingers finding music through darkness

and hesitation

unsteady, uncertain

in dim rooms that gradually brighten. 

we reinvent, learn to cherish

to thrive in that strange new new, 

that tricky obstacle

ardent question

to arrive at welcome 

at a borderless territory 

at something like us.

If I said that I missed you 

dancing with the flowers 

singing into reflection 

and joy

it would be true. 

Spreading Fire

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