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142 saPPhics​For​Patience Look​there—something​rests​on​your​hand​and​even lingers,​though​the​wind​all​around​is​asking it​to​leave​you.​Passing​the​windy​passage, you​have​been​chosen. Seed.​Like​dust​or​thistle​it​sits​so​lightly that​your​hand​while​holding​the​trust​of​silk​gets gentle.​Seed​like​hope​has​come,​making​stillness. Wish,​in​the​quiet. If​I​stood​there—stopped​by​a​windy​passage— staring​at​my​hand—which​is​always​open— hopeful,​maybe,​not​to​compel​you,​I’d​wish only​for​patience. ...

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