new-born

what is it about the morning,

the fresh-quiet newness

when you can take it in

 

slowly and think on it

lovingly like a careful

caress to the head,

 

the scents of every

thing coming alive

and together,

 

the sounds of winds and

birds and chimes and

children and steel-will

 

machinery gearing up and

moving the water and the earth,

birth-rising to meet you and

 

your vulnerability as you step

off the cliff once again and 

fall into the novel possible?

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