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two of the birch trees have got
their tops loose from the snow and

have risen into the air like monsters
awakening with feelers: they lean

and reach for higher air: if a front
comes and the wind jacks them up,

lifting and catching them up, then
they may be restored to a new

tranquility of poise: this is the
rising of the burden-bent, you know;

the realm of the playful, overseeing
heights: let our heavy emotions

become such tickles way up: is it
the same, being guilty and sinning;

then we are sinners: we trust that
in understanding and forgiving,

or really trying to forgive, the sins
of others, we may understand and

come as close as possible to forgiving
our own: but as with all verdicts

there’s something more to it:
verdicts are fences in fields where

lava flows