Saturday, August 11, 2012


I understand you, you
bushy-headed palms,
stretched so tall
against the sky.

My soul's moved with you,
bit by bit,
raising the tent
of the sky;
upward, toward the

You've risen above the other trees,
tall to see
beyond their crowded heads.
You long to see a


can't be seen so
low. You
miss a place to stand and
let your unobstructed gaze
touch anything,


like a shepherd patrolling
the slumbering ranks
of his fleecy white charges,
his touch like bell tolls:

"All is well."

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