Even when you can barely hope,
Even when your heart is hardened as a fist,
Even when you cannot breathe,
The flowers of the field,
The birds of the air

are breathing for you.
Even the seeds
deposited in the dark
earth of your heart
are splitting open . . .
and the birds perched in the eaves

have already deposited
a song, hidden in the egg’s
rich yolk.

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