A ContemplationMy body is no longer my own. It contains a
sprout like a fiddlehead fern frond, curled
inward on itself.
Microscopic cells mystically multiply
with fervor, their intention known only
to themselves.
While I breathe, while I sleep, whether
I churn like a river or remain a placid lake,
this body has
Its own mission. Summer is coming.-Kathryn Harper
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