The man on the rooftop
Above Everest
Prays to the sun
On one leg.
His hands are shaped in a bow
From which arrows of hope spring.
I can see him from here, the other end of town
In this clear air of morning
It is so quiet I can even hear his whispers
When he mutters beneath his breath
And listen to the butterflies
In his stomach.
The little birds that come out of their nests
Give us an inkling of freedom
They nibble and chirp, nibble and chirp
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