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Easy talk—
habits, likes, family—
flows into roots and quests.
Migrations of belief.
She imagines him,
barefoot with a sitar.
He sees her in a grove,
hands warmed by ancient stones.
“Are you devoted to one stone,
or a broader path?”
Laughter rises. Coffee spills.
Not even the spiritual odyssey is sacred.
Above,
the Spirit of the East circles,
gliding on unseen drafts,
feathered shadow over glass.
It dips, hovers, then lands.
Image adapted from an Emma Cha prompt