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On This Day of Jubilation

by Therese Quig

We are the seed cracking
We are the wineís cavern
We are the curve of hand in hand
We are creek bed

salt of night   known
startle of the ospreyís cry

We are bread baking

this burst of blossom
the soulís wink   sweet
milk of greening   glad
travelers lost

We are river silt
a perfumed unfolding
flameís cresset   its carapace
We are perfect pitch

the first and last of lovers
bright like a sum curl of branches basket-of-gold birdsong
windís canter and
its reels and jigs
today

       We are
blue sky

ungated

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