rain-filled ruts reflect
an apple red summer sky
that highlights brown hills
in the wind my skin
revels amidst bitter-sweet
echoes of that day
wind, you will have a
terrible time smothering
my soft clarity
a good poem somehow
makes what’s true a little more
disturbing/profound
Poem within this poem
Grace inhabits this body…
image finds its Source
I love you, but it’s
not the finish, not the end
but the beginning
You say “I love you”
a sound so tender that the
dead could even hear!
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