One of my earliest memories is walking to the park, my hand firmly tucked into hers. I was an impulsive child, and likely would have darted ... [+]
The birds sing
As I sit in stagnant heat
Hands on still oars,
And the lake mirrors the sky
So perfectly
That I stand up and dive down
Toward the heavens,
And among the clouds,
Before the water breaks my wings,
I understand their song.
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