As morning reaches where only night had been,
dew once more settles on the brittle earth
and breath returns to one,
so all can breathe again.
Poetry. Words. And, words about words
As morning reaches where only night had been,
dew once more settles on the brittle earth
and breath returns to one,
so all can breathe again.
I have hidden my head
in the cloak of heaven, singing.
I can smell a fragrance
and watch an evening unfold.
Could this be the dance
of saints and sinners,
women and men,
soldiers and satin,
frail and overpowering,
wise and unstable,
sick and perfect,
praise and calumny?
They swoosh and dance and mingle
with heads up and eyes wide
hands clasped and hearts raised.
Listen for their whispered shouts, loudly silent,
heard only by those
with a need to hear something
they did not expect –
“Come.”
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