Poetry

Awakening

My body awakens each morning By the grace of the prevailing wind...

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Cathedral

Here the stained-glass windows move; here they live and breathe.

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A dialogue between God and me

Again?
    It is a journey, you know.

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A Thousand

In my face, surely you can see

a thousand faces.

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Among the Shabby Tents

He sits in dust among the shabby tents

on the other side of the blazing fire

and bids us “Come.” 

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