There was your singing,
the broken song of doves
as it settled onto the rooftops
like glimmering snow.
The lofting notes
made sense as the
air vibrated,
these soundings
were yours.
These bits of song
stolen from lullabies
you learned from the
trees, their wind-driven
swaying in the night
brought you, open-mouthed
into this song.
Inherited,
this was, the
lyrics long-lost,
if sheet music ever existed
it was not destroyed,
but no need,
for within
it was birthed
as part of your
slippery soul.
And we watch this
part of you as it
rose into the weather vanes
and steeple tops,
reaching as only
soft-winged soul song
may.
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