Sparrows
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| (Picture by Remo Savisaar) |
in their ruffled ordinariness
on the back fence, picking
at leftover seeds and fruits
of the dead. In winter,
the sparrows bear the burden
of the cold, light as the cross
of their hollow bones, and
from the window, they are,
in the glare of holy every day,
framed and hallowed prayer.
~Sally Ito
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