Miracle

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It is a Miracle that there is a blank page waiting every day.

It is a Miracle that I can write words on it.

It is a Miracle that you can read these words.

It is a Miracle that these words can become pictures, feelings, symbols, connections.

It is a Miracle that each person can experience different pictures, feelings, symbols, connections from the same words.

It is a Miracle that words can form ideas.

It is a Miracle that ideas can form actions.

It is a Miracle that actions can change you, can change me, can change the world.

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roof over your head

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what am i to say to this,

sky wrapped woolly and wet over me,


the itch to pierce that tight skin and

to keep flying threaded in?


the shapes speak to us all day long;

we shun the silence of octagons.


what’s yours is mine: we share this space,

complicit in its undoing.


let it undo you.


let it give you firsts and lasts;

let it thrust itself upon you.

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up all night

rest-less

under this

weight

of waiting;

blank space panting,

breaking open,

into:

liquid line of wanting,

chanting

down the

window.

it’s a beautiful view.

it’s a painting

steeping,

tired of stepping

lightly;

ready for marching,

pistons shaking—

it’s there

for the taking.

where you are the green

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naked nest,

empty chest,

 

exposed by the

long stretch-slap of winter.

 

go out into it,

stand-under,

 

chalk it up to a blank chapter.

 

get out of the prison of your head;

let your legs do the talking.

 

end up on a new path

where you are the green, and

 

hunted, and in your blood,

walking.

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