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Two poems: Theodore Roethke; A Light Breather

The spirit moves, Yet stays: Stirs as a blossom stirs, Still wet from its bud-sheath, Slowly unfolding, Turning in the light with its tendrills; Plays as a minnow plays, Tethered to a limp weed, swinging, Tail around, nosing in and out of the current, Its shadows loose, a watery finger; Moves, like the snail, Still inward, Taking and embracing its surroundings, Never wishing itself away, Unafraid of what it is, A music in a hood, A small thing, Singing.

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