Grace and Peace to you.
Perhaps you are the empty piece of paper.
Perhaps you are the pen.
Maybe you are the listening,
the silence ready to bloom.
A tree with open branches
waits for the bird.
The poet walks on beaches,
searching for the word.
She watches someone coming
in a little wooden boat.
Her body is not set aside, but still,
and also a shoreline, also a boat.
The sea awaits what she will hear,
like her opening over and over.
Her waiting is her love,
and what the blue dawn has to say.
The letter is full of the lover
and the beloved.
The rain is already falling
but hasn’t yet arrived.
The word, still unrevealed,
is in the air.
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