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Daphne: or how the soul falls
in love with what it will become
There were doubtless many others planted
around the compound of conference buildings
for shade and decoration, each with a ring
of grass or brick to contain it
within the yard.
Yet that morning rushing
to my car for the long drive home, I was
gripped by the eyeless gaze of the ordinary
birch, its white trunk like an arm rising out
of the ground.
Each leaf, turning singly,
wheeled as one, silver undersides flashing
into a single limb of light. Awake,
I was completely awake with becoming
that tree.
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