Like a song in which the soul
dresses herself — nearly
to a line, a point of undress,
in between a beat and a pause,
there is an art that comes about
and holds till it gives new birth
to breath — so that its return
may break off death and change
what otherwise would be lost
or dulled and mute without,
and, in that breath that bears songs,
where deeper love is growing ripe
to round and join a softened mouth,
sound and soul tremble back as one.
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