I can feel you. I can feel you before I can see you. I can feel you watching me before I can hear you move. Move me, please. You’re so high. Those long strokes of yours, they cut with precision as if your body is a blade. As if you intend to open the sky and peer through the blue and white, enter a different world, befriend another galaxy. Is that where you go? Can I come, too? There, I’m sure I can soar, my body expanding like yours. There, my soul glides, I’m sure of it. I’m weightless. My body is without burden. And grief falls from my wings and touches the ground and turns into seeds that turn into trees that we can climb together. I can sense you. I can sense you even when you’re on the highest peak, touching the earth with your bare feet, blending in with the storm. Because a storm did come and I felt you, somehow, as the days grew colder and I turned away from the window, stopped looking up. Even when I kept my eyes closed, I felt you, I did. What do you do all day now that there is too much darkness to see the clear blue sky? I would be calling out into the night, telling all of my secrets. I would be with my flock. We would be painting large strokes on cool water. When will I see you again? I want to soar.

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