Poem by Sandra Fowler
For I have seen dark mountains in the sky,
More Himalayan to the naked eye,
Than any reason for our where or why.
Hands clasp to lift a measure of that height.
The gesture is as fragile as a kite
Against the massive, polarizing night.
And yet, my friend, I am content to be
A little part of that entirety.
All space my hands can hold belongs to me.
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