Grace and Peace to you.
How to speak of this?
There is light, resting on you,
wrapping everything, creating height,
slipping down and up each wall
even cupping undersides in soft white hands.
The bird, whose language no one
understands, how does it choose
just where it flies, it sings, it lands?
There is heat, murmured, a glue that holds you
to everything, makes you all
one word. And silence, yes,
bestowed, not left: tendered, its weft
woven with the warp of tiny threads,
little sounds that give it definition.
Shadows, echoes, little flaws.
You find your place.
A story, never told, but clear, though not to us.
There is water, moving with its usual grace
and understated wisdom. And things growing,
yes, that’s it, growing toward something,
about something, lifting themselves up.
Ah, and gravity, there’s that, too, the struggle,
the embrace, the encounter, the return.
The home. The belonging. The name.
And there’s you, within this with the spiral
galaxy of your mind slowly turning.
Perfectly repeating all this within.
Yes, there is all this.
how to speak of this? There is, yes,
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