Poetry

Waking Up

February 18, 2018

Holding hands in the dark,
the wash of moonlight spilling
onto the sheets.
A kiss on my cheek and
a hug that lingers long enough
to feel the solid warmth
of skin and bone.
The breath of a sunset sky,
and the heat of thunder and lightning
pouring cleansing waters from above.
A singular burgundy leaf,
skidding on the cement.
The light in the hallway at four am,
illuminating words from
heart to pen to paper, and
the folded corners and frayed pages
of a faithful book
always on your nightstand.
The poems that whisper your name
before blooming into song
and the sound of footsteps
running on gravel.
These are so many tiny moments,
where person
meets time
meets place.
Where I meet you.
A fated intersection
that contain infinite
beginnings and endings and
also everything that is true
right here and right now.
And so,
we are called to wake up
not just to the immense
joys and catastrophes
but to everything in between.
For in those spaces,
in those pauses between
inhale and exhale,
we find all of life pulsing and
waiting to be found.
If we turn quiet,
still,
then perhaps we can become
the small moments.
And if we are lucky,
allow them to become
us.

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