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Before the birdcalls returned, before the mist had decided what to keep, I was there—watching her hold what morning could not yet offer. She did not reveal herself all at once. She allowed the light to find her, edge by softened edge. Her smile was not for me. It wasn’t even for time.

I stood at the edge of her silence. The camera was beside me, ready. But I waited until I felt I no longer carried my own name. The shutter released by itself, like a breath I had been holding since I first saw her.

lotus in her hand
as if light could be offered
back to the silence


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