LXVIII.

From Hafiz. Via my yoga teacher. Found here, after class, when I hadn’t quite got it memorized.

And

for no reason

I start skipping like a child.

And

for no reason

I turn into a leaf

that is carried so high

I kiss the sun’s mouth

and dissolve.

And

for no reason

a thousand birds

choose my head for a conference table,

start passing their

cups of wine

and their wild songbooks all around.

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