One step and then another
Life on Earth
we enter this cave of our dream,
this whirlwind of years:
A cool day. Wet
after hard autumn rain.
Above us the maples and walnuts
arch black and almost naked.
A river of birds
flows south beneath ragged clouds.
How is it that our days
come down to this
perpetual present
like a vanishing storm
until for an instant
each gesture is sacred
each small sound an echo
in a temple of bone?
Hear it:
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