in the garden, i search for you
`tween thorn and petal;
you create space for your bloom.
within colours, you blend
and become hidden to
the non-sighted. i am joyous
to have sight of the soul.
though now, i hear you calling
within the strings of the harp.
i position my small hands upon my harp
into the orchestra of your angels.
for my mother
`t. imaan tretchicovmanicova
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