a gift the treasure of inspiration cannot be repaid
it cannot be traded up for or even held
it cannot be loved
for
it transcends the boundaries of what love dies for
it lives on
going and remembering in gardens and groves
what was meant to be planted
even if not
because it is
that soul of sadness
spread across through fibers
going beyond that knowing is buoyancy
reaching satellites and presence
age and grace
once given
it is and always will be
you and your and my
becoming you can't help it
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