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Everywhere I went, I carried my leaf with me.
My leaf was red, with a green heart.
And a yellow flame inside that.
It was a heart. I had it blessed.
I mailed it to myself. Often, in tribute,
I touched my leaf to my face.
This is one means of explanation.
Inhabiting the leaf, you walk
the vein that travels farthest. Notice
how we meet, diverge, then meet again.
We have let out the ropes.
All morning we listen for bells.
For the big drums. To placate the sky,
We fasten our hammers sideways.
My distance from you is relative.
It fathers my distance from myself.
And to recognize this is to arrive
at home through perilous weather.
Death must be like that. After dreaming
a life, you wake, cured.
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