If dreams rise

of planting marigolds in snow,

yet the spiders that plague you still

have not yielded

understanding,

can we love each other in our differences?

While you wrestle with your ghosts,

and I with mine,

is there a golden bridge between us

where

the songs we sing,

the tears filling our eyes,

the breath aching our lungs,

the laughter erupting before placid waters

may join?

We mustn’t forget

how many languages we share 

even without knowing

any of the words.

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