What is it that I have
That I was not given
Even the air
I did not make it
I did nothing to deserve it
I did not cultivate it
It was just given
Ready for my harvesting
In I breathe
What of grief
Even that bears witness to gift
The gift of connection
Enflamed with ache
Because it exists
In the field of my heart
In I breathe
With ragged gasps
The gift
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