Nest of Longing

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I go to a job I don’t deserve,

lie on a bed that is not mine,

feed on food nobody owes me,

and breathe air I don’t have to bleed for.

I relish the love of people who deeply love me

unaware of the depths of my unlovableness

and enjoy this world

that began without my help

but whose soul is my kin.

The soul of this Garden,

this errant masterpiece,

is an older brother to me.

And we groan together for redemption

like fledglings in a nest of longing

on a tree that’s been falling

since the roots of time first sprang.

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