Morning Glory

July 11, 2012
breaths of air
follow through to hollow logs
and humble spaces.
Air craves scent as suns spill
across the landscape.
Dew clusters on patches of grass
with small signals of life.
Hope flies
with the certain
brisk feeling of faith.
Love blooms and falls
to the pits of our stomachs,
with the wariness of surviving.
Peace comes and bombs through us,
then diminishes the trace of being.

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