...then the lightness of Saint Frances—
all the birds soaring
above a rich, shallow lake
and a heart with them
upward, not to conquer,
but into the paleolightness
of lifting ecstasy, feathers open
riding the harmonic of that subtle
melody of an updraft.
This song of throw it all away,
walk barefoot on the Roman stone,
...we are meant for this.
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'stretch your borders,
go somewhere' challenge