Being here

Birds fly out

of the knot in her hair,

she is so aware,

scattering seedlings,

bits of shadow,

developing in the palm

of her sweating hand.

 

She, simple;

she, parallel like another place;

standing up so straight

and staunch, scattering

clumps of seed here, there

in some authentic order.

 

Speak of her,

she becomes the soles of your feet,

whisking wind from

where you have been…

            she doesn’t know if you know her or not

she has her own place.

 

Presence belongs to itself.  It cannot be sought, found, bought or sold. It simply is that it is.  Like God.

© Andrea Mathews, 2014

Blue Moon Gary Randall

Photo by Gary Randall

 

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