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33 Dear Soul I find a few words you scratched on blue-lined paper, ink fading over time, a photo of you as a child, frowning as you hold a blanket to your naked breast. I remember everything you said— not each word, but enough to know your goodness, your resolve. Where have you gone, dear soul? Have you learned to value the luster of your own bright heart? Always I wonder which star you have become. Have you joined the flight of birds? Are you in sunlight shining through the green of June? Or are you in the wind, a chime tolling its one true note? ...

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