Monday, January 1, 2018

Your breath, my hand

You begin slowly, speaking softly, saying, One word at a time, gently we go, with love, just as if you are a cushion of fresh green moss on a wall, beyond which bare fields sleep until spring. And then someone happens along and replies: I, too, am a part of everything. Your breath, my hand. Tell us again how they have become friends. Tell us softly, one word at a time. Gently. With love. Now is the time.

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