somehow from a life still warm and aglow, like the mouth of a hearth winking from mountainside windows or a lantern far out at sea. And I don’t know how to explain in words how the weight and the pain you carried has arrived for me to ride like some cargo of hope, or how I might tell you that I wish to free what you’ve written from all the pages closed on darkness,
and sing them from some cold and lonely height, so that you might reclaim them warm with my breath, somewhere in the wind.
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