Like
a warm nest
cools
in twig's memory,
now,
there is sunlight
in
places we each wore
as
spirit safehouses.
Though
these places
where
our spirits were but left,
now,
show no signs of ever fading.
Even
as I feel for there,
although
growing cold,
they
are clear to me
as
their subtly of light finds me,
from
there, where we were,
to
here, and ever glows . . .
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