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heavenhere
slow knows the way
at the edge of the orchard
where ruby and emerald
spread o’er the ground
turn when you first sense
the river is speaking
your name
like a whisper
of love falling ‘round

just a bit further –
as branches are bent
by the pleasures of sunlight
folded to grace
spun into feathers
by tiny brown beaks
– weaved into shadows
of wishes
and lace

drive
til there’s nothing
but maple and pine
sweetgum and cedar
fluttering leaves
sing with the sparrow
of paradise found –
warm through the window
reminders to breathe

. . .