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from the June 2008 issue

The Bird’s Last Flight

When I enter the earth's nest
and glad,
my wings resting,
I will free my eyelids so not to see
the trees swaying nearer.
Do not cry over me.
I said do not cry.
If you wish, remember that my wings
are water
and there is no water without waves
and no waves without a shore where they crash.

I rest here
and glad
to have reached the last shore.
Do not cry.
Even the sound of my breathing cannot reach me . . .

Damascus, February 8, 1995
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