watery wrinkles moving in the space ahead
so close i could touch them...
where nothing seems to be
something just... is...
like grace
...and so you must be here with me
standing on an old texas hillcountry road
on a breathless, starry summer night
with rock and cedar as temple and witness
and the low trill of a screech owl for a psalm
1 comment:
actually this poem isn't finished yet but this much wants to stand alone for awhile...
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