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All that is sublime in the world
can be found among the birds,
who carry with them
the many names of the dead.
When my hair, at last, transfigures
to woven bramble, I will let sparrows
build their nest there,
and wear their house as a crown.
[Editor’s Note: Publication of this poem was made possible by a gift from Kristin Waller during our annual Kickstarter.]