Dear Moses

Close-up of a white strawberry blossom with a yellow center next to a green bud, set against a blurred background.
 
Dear Moses
I know how words become trapped birds, not trapped
exactly, but how a mouth becomes a damp cave
and how birds, and we, cannot find an exit.
 
What is possible, my friend, though not easy
I know, is love of self and other, your mouth,
a splendid garden where an unknown genus blooms.
And a shimmering-winged dove.
Then how Aaron cradles the blossom for you.
 
This, our opening.

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