Different writings and poems arrive most mornings. Some I subscribe to, and some are simply serendipitous, perhaps God-given. Actually, when I think of it, of course it is all God-given. The trick is to figure which ones are for now and which ones I might figure out later, when I*ve had a cup of coffee or two. Sometimes I write pre-coffee, and sometimes something arrives mid-day.
Poems drop
From the sky.
They shine through cracks
In the clouds.
I always thought
The rayed light
Must be God.
Poems drop.
They are in the pieces
Of rayed light.
They must be caught before
The clouds entirely disappear,
The light covers everything
Equally;
Then
The particular reflection
Is not particular
At all.
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