The rain when all signs said sunny
You get to love the
The way the world arrives
In your smaller one,
The one you nurture and steward
In your
Own way
You get to love
The impossible
In the ways that have always
Made the globe spin
Watching, the sun shines on
The road by the mailbox
But all the while snow dances
Across the red rooftops
Of the barns out back
The knowing arrives:
You get to love
The chances that seem
Long, those
Rich, succulent roads
Unfurling to mystery, entailing
Your attention to the
Unnavigable truths along the way
The present, being quite
Difficult to apprehend, still
Pulses with a steady light, oh!
I know the way.
Following it, I
Tell myself,
There’s something to be said
For drift
Yes, you do get to know it. You are a mistress of merging with this becoming. Of listening into it, and of becoming its voice.
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