she is not a seal caught in an un-intended net
not a spider whose parachute cut loose and is now cast upon the wind
she is not the mite whom, upon jumping on a bird
is moved from Denver to Albuquerque
and then moved back again
she is not the answer to my un-spoken prayer
she carries not the whisper of my mother's hair
she is not the concrete missing from the frame
stairs, steps, walls, roofs,
foundation, weather-vanes
how will I ever write the letter to her if I never let her leave?
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