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Monday, November 1, 2010


I stand alone on the precipice,
an open mouth waiting to swallow me.
I turn my chin to the sky, tears gleaming
from moonlit rays. I beg my God to speak,
to send angles of white to my rescue,
for is that not how it works? Fear takes me,
too late for any rescue, even God's,
until I feel weightless, floating freely,
aimless drifting. There is no dark; no light;
only here and now. My lungs fill with air,
oxygen clinging to deprived cells like children
stretching mother's skirt to hide from the world.
I am in limbo, but a beauteous one,
where I am myself, and that is enough;
It is enough, for when I stir from sleep,
your arms are the air carrying me home;
my shelter from the stormy winds that blow
into my mind, but you are the fog rising,
and in your hands, your eyes, your lips, your grace,
in your compassion, I have found my God.

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