Amidst the tapestry of our lives
her little eyes are woven like two
raised birds that flutter in our center
She is sewn into my mother's
condition less affection
though she is her own creation
with an inertia driven by a source
aflame beneath her feet
It is her own beautiful struggle
to exist in joy in spite of
and because of my flaws
... her breath is as essential
to me as my own
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