I was not Self but the cool morning air between the pines
I was the itching of the midges and mosquitoes and went beyond
Then they went through and I through them
I Became their whirlwind of green and yellow
Happy calls in a meadow of boreal bounty
And on they went
Doing what Crossbill does
Being what Crossbill is
For a moment
I tracked their Spirit
And they lifted mine
And on I went
Doing what Man does
Being what Man is
And my Spirit sang
And my Spirit sang
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