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Your Soul Is A Falcon

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“Your soul is the king’s falcon,” sings Rumi
but here on the ground we are yelling at a cat
to get off the table, packing lunches,
untangling power cords, checking the forecast,
drowning out the soft classical guitar play list
fading the falcon into the background
on a groundswell of ordinary morning irritation.
Stop, breathe, remember who we are
each of us, as we both soar
and search for clean socks

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