I invite her in the afternoon.
Between shifting curtains, in breeze and sunlight, laundry.
Between trees, more trees.
Each note enters a space previously undefined.
How much there is to see when one no longer wishes to see!
Clouds move overhead like sacred cattle, borne by winds we cannot hear.
She pats the floor and I sit beside her.
In my mind I see a maple tree.
In my mind it is still spring.
Beyond the clouds is more space, and beyond space is what goes without ending.
Her smile is kind and sudden.
The kids come in with black raspberries and stories of a hawk.
Our voices carry, and something else carries too.
Her sari is red, she wears no shoes.
Dust from a thousand universes enters the body, swirls in a rapids, and exits purified.
The maple tree says, I was here when you were a little boy and watched you walking to school.
Why am I so sad and so afraid of tears?
That is why I am here, she says.
That is why we are here now, says the maple tree, leaning in closer.
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