I’m always surprised
when I feel held.
When the stool
I stand upon, the
chair I sit upon,
the bicycle I
ride upon,
humbly takes
me on for whatever
length of time
I determine I need
for that particular day.
It’s like the prayer
that reads me,
the church that
houses me,
or the rose garden
in the middle
of the city
that welcomes
my summer evening
picnic- tenderly
forcing a feeling
of being graciously
held.
Or the mountain
who lets me
climb her side,
and the ocean
who has never
turned me away…
Forever holding me
in her transparent
waves of unconditional
embrace, as I rhythmically
float along her bosom
to the sandy shore.
still like a womb,
that lovingly
cradles until
the water breaks.
Time-limited
though a poem, a song,a work of art may be,
when I’m there,
it feels absolute.
It feels enough
when these objects
of nature, nurture
the soft jewel of
my stardust.
our mammalian
DNA that craves
the warm envelopment
of oneness.
But it may be our
our humanity that
can taste it even
while bathing in
the delicious sunlight
on a park bench
in spring.
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