Newcomer
An elephant now rests
in the meadow by the alder patch
its great trunk unrolled
between shadowy tusks,
long
like the winter that stretches
before us
draped in frosted skin wrinkled
by wind
and thickly lashed
skies.
As you pause, waiting
perhaps
for an answer
the new year’s light flashes
over the ridge
and takes the ear shape
of a trickster’s wing
moving like a whisper
it breathes
into your own:
yes, always —
your animal heart is
home.
This is majestic, Tricia. These words shall stay with me forever:
your animal heart is
home.
Glorious! Thank you.
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thank you, Rebecca!
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