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anastasia

she wakes
and I am waiting
the meaning of her sighs
as pink and yellow ribbons
to the wheat
washing now
in rivers – of divine
her mysteries
fill the soul
deciding
not to sleep

she loves
and I am willing
one more life
this one to save –
another time
for other loves
the same –
scarlet brush of passion
marks a morning sky
angels weep
with memory of night

she sees
and I am ever
as a child into her fold
pressed against the bosom
of her sin
carried as a baby would
let me lead –
I will
know as she is knowing
of the truth
she wakes
within

. . .