A Poem (and a Photograph)


Simple Gifts

Lost ballon—colored blue—
searching for the infant hand it lost,
descends from heaven
upon the path tired soles walk
in the darkness of night.

A bell from a distant tower
dissolves into song,
after a clear moment
discovered between lines
of an ancient paragraph.

The voice of a lover
—abducted by old thoughts—
heard again for the first time,
naked words, dressed in white,
unchained, over water purified.

Simple gifts, ours for the asking,
freely given
by a philanthropic deity
unconcerned with the value
we affix to things.

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