my heart is a wooden bird
perched on the edge your soul’s pool,
tasting with no intent to consume.
the ritual of rising and falling
becomes a prayer to the ephemeral,
steady, dynamic, process:
fall, encounter, break, dive, rise,
and do it all over again; a mantra
of purpose, dedication to doing
what is meant, the steady drip of
soul substance from my beak is
sweet because there is nothing
lost in giving back to that which
feeds me; fall, encounter, break,
dive, rise and do it all over again

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