pulling you up as mud cakes your sandals
tears in your eyes about stars
I understand this emotion
I knew we would be friends
and I could cry about the fit
about how you say that you always had a sense that
God exists
the golden evening on your parent’s porch
we exist
slowly
like children unaware of
how summer will end
I have this sense
you are
with earth and sycamore and
water
eyes shining
both hands up
I have this sense that your love has the rare depth
of excitement
it is a privilege to love you as
a sister
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