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Wednesday, October 11, 2017

Poetry 117: Nothing More

Nothing more.
The silhouette of my son's trampoline

in the dawn of day.


The grandiose

(and reliable) Big Dipper

in the night sky

that guided Harriet Tubman

to freedom.

The luscious bite

of this perfect peach

in 95 degree summer heat

with my lover standing by.

The first ten seconds

of bedtime when

my animal body makes that delicious

direct contact

with fresh, clean sheets.


What more

could I ask for?

The bare naked

purity of that which

surrounds me

is whole(some) and complete.

I need not add-

or subtract.


The clarity that comes

from that Emersonian Awakening

of heaven on earth.


Meaning.

Magic.

Merriment.


Mysterious and romantic

they are.


And on more than one occasion,

I'm there, in full;

bathing in the fantastical,

sensual pleasures

of the mind's

creations.


Yet, as Pure Land

would suggest,

we may just

have everything we need.


Nothing more.

-Me

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