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I'd be a canary
singing rapturously,
if for one brief second
I could peel the layers
that have choked my lovely feathers.
I would trill sweet notes
if unfreedom did not bind,
if heartsickness did not clog,
the very breath that was
given me to breath.
Does Someone hold
medicine in His Hand?
A Wound to heal a wound?
Can anyone explain to me
what drama captured me!
I feel a stirring.
From where, I do not know.
But quivering deep within
I sense the dawning
of some unutterable magic.
Christine Fisher lives in Corfu.

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