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Gone

When I’m good and gone,

tell them I held gravity’s

tether like a cup of wine.

Considered it sacrament

to see what I could find,

say what I could mean,

behold what beauty

I could bear. Practiced the

search one bead after the

next: a full blooded prayer.

 

That I answered when my

better angels knocked

(even if I made them wait).

Burned off what I could

not carry. Eyes agape,

as starbound smoke

floated towards the Friday

jazz parade. Though my

restless soul did wander,

was not lost along the way.