Felt, but unseen…


Felt, but unseen.
Once again the
Striated beast moves beneath us,
Looking for new angels
To face down some demons of old.
Withered knolls creep quietly
And settle in fixed space,
And we wonder why the galaxies roam
And multiply so wantonly.
Hear the song of the legend

Didn’t die,
But whose passion transports us
To newer and gladder tidings.
It never occurred to us that
We hitchhiked on their tails
All this time.

Behold a summons to possibility
And a calling to account of new thought,
Of hands marked with perfectly aligned
Veins of experience
Clasped in prayer, trembling with delight
As the eyes face down unpaved roads
Lush with unbridled verdure

Punctuated by sinewy vines that crawl
Slowly, marking out each inch with
Perfection, love.

A posthumous love letter tumbles freely
Amid an unsure wind, but hopeful.
Time will surely read it, and in
The cool of a reassuring Dawn,
He will run impulsively until out of breath,
Stopping besides a lowered branch
To weep a little.
And to smile.
And live a little more.

Art: “All Things New”
Karen Whitworth

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