Folding over yourself
like a napkin on a Christmas table
the knowledge that if you fall
something cushions your skid
enter then, into the grace
that keeps bubbling under the surface
of the noise awakening with daybreak
the urgency of your eyes to feed on water
wash out the numb repetition
of yesterday, the day before it, the day after
don't think of funerals
when you bury time away
waste to make of old sweaters
something beautiful
re-purpose the words you say carefully
fall back into the creation of living
veer towards the grace received
all in one breath, like a cyclone turning around its own self
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