Mother-ground, show me roots, in your bare, dirty, kiss.
—Margo Berdeshevsky, Amber is a Tree's Blood

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Mourning Doves

I don’t know what the wind is saying
but I know what the soul of the wind is saying
it’s saying I can help you
and I can see through water
the language the wind uses in my hair
is not unfamiliar
it’s soft, like the way I touch you
at night under the blankets
but I can’t touch the wind that way
so I leave it alone
follow the voice of its soul
which assures me that my longing will be fulfilled.

I think that the mourning doves are of my mind
they enjoy the touch of the wind on their feathers, I know
but the way they stab their beaks in the ground
and wait, and stab again, and wait
they are alert for a different stillness
if given the choice
they would be women.

I don’t know what I’m saying
but I know what my soul is saying
I want to enter into a greater state of solitude
and a greater state of love.

— wendy burk

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