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Tenacity of Lace

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Musings # 66 Poem in POEM



In the earth’s spin and revolve –

no voice says now, no finger

points to the hands on a clock face,

no bell tolls the call to prayer.


Yet the sun’s slanted rays in autumn 

can startle a man out of his fugue,

blind him to past defeats,


cause him to weep –

for himself and for the beauty

of this forsaken world.


And so his despair has lifted, opened

to hope and possibility – the way

a receptive ear cocks toward

a bulb’s stir into shoot and bloom.


Not needing to know why,

I rest in the mystery, unsolved

and unknowable –


heart gladdened by the way

– in the unspoken dark –

the interior readies itself. 





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