The Magpie and the Sycamore Leaf From my kitchen window a long black finger flicks up and down over the eve shoot, balancing its dark belly a magpie pierces its beak into dead leaves, tosses them into the air, they scatter, fall in a flutter, past the glass in a dance of colour, yellow, sienna, umber without a sound down onto the ground down in total surrender. One gold sycamore leaf splayed on my path and I hear the words of Kabir; God is the breath inside the breath. Attracta Fahy
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