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Painted Poem #3/21

Day of Distancing (an excerpt)

Enter the ways of morning, the body of morning—the waking of bee and leaf, spider and newt. The way morning sun catches in the threads that hold grasses to trees—uncountable in their holdings, but visible only in this light.

Have you noticed how, when we finally let go,

all we’ve ever wanted comes?

By which I mean love—not the come-and-go,

flare-and-fade kind, but love as a cloud of gnats

you can walk through, or as the kingfisher’s impossible stillness on his branch above the lake.

How did we come to think we had no time for this?

These days seem mostly to give us ourselves—

over and over—happy to break us,

to open us wider, deeper and more true.

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