Milk for Breakfast
The day when my hands hold a life, smaller than yours ever was,
I will lift my face up to the heavens,
and sing with the birds in an ensemble of joy,
of longing, of devastation, of hope.
This life, young, hours old, maybe mine, maybe hers,
will know you and your graces, all yours.
We will drink milk for breakfast,
we will place flowers on your grave.
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