the wet morning after a full moon
as she grows slimmer
on the other side of the waters
the sun shines brightly
peeking through so many trees
seeking me out
finding the skin of my eyelids
and shoulder blades
the phenomenon of a warm unanticipated
touch from the sky
.
and now searching becomes the focal point
journeying, always
are we
is there a moment of rest
,truly?
if forward is all there is
where is now?
.
i like to battle the elements
with tiny movements
whenever i can
pushing up against gravity,
resisting its pull
talking back to pain
reflecting on death,
even as i breathe
;
the little things which prove our power,
though we are small
aren't these our strange miracles?
picking up that which has fallen,
setting it back to rights
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