Sometimes the sky runs through you:
a light-saturated blue, streamers of white cloud.
I’ve admired your free spirit, envied your lightness,
and tugged at my mooring ropes but found them firm.
No doubt, this vision of you reflects intangibility:
I may as well be grabbing at falling snow.
But still, I tell myself, that all I can be and all I can know
is extracted on the threshing floor of my mind.
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