Resilience
The robe hangs from melike a dark green riverthat has traveledthrough iron gates,through winters of counting,through the long vocabulary of restriction. And now— see how the old cathedral lightcannot help itself.It pours over my shouldersas if the morning itselfhad been waitingfor this walk. Seventy-six years oldand still the heartopening like a wildflowerthrough . . .
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