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Meek Little Human That I Am | Poetry

Golden: Photography by Shawn Michel de Montaigne

Framed by fall and the constant kiss of open quiet,

or the descending zig-zag of golden wings goldly shifting afternoonly,

the tiny linear glitter of spiders’ webs pulled into curves of cool geometric mutiny,

shadows of gold lengthening and reaching into decades of wondering grief ...

(or is that wandering grief?) ...

So far the dome of the blue day has yet to reveal her answers,

as I demand of all days, meek little human that I am.

Courage so often isn’t a battle with indeterminacy

as it is mere apathy towards it.

The days will come and go regardless of my will.

Or yours.

There is no spot where the universe rests absolutely.

Hunger. A headache just over my nose. Hangnail, right pinkie.

Just caught my breath.

Thinking of the cool grass, and missing the rain.

The rain.


From Conversations With God


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