I remember you, years ago
heart of an old woman
in the gilded cage of child;
for such a long and winding path,
your journey here, a quick one
but not quietly assumed-
the loud cries
of an injured animal
bring me back to you.
I'll forgive myself for deciding
it is too late in the spring
to turn back now
how many winters
have we passed together?
how many nights
separating ourselves
from our sadness?
when did our fist
simultaneously release
the small white dove?
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