Meditation
I wonder what would move me
here
in this unchanging place.
Unmoved.
But not. I am
still
stunned by the sun
dropping
below the mountains,
turning the sky.
Still
I weep
in places
I find kindness
when I expected
none.
At the sight of an infant
my arms
still
ache to hold my own
again
that close.
But.
The wind
no longer talks
to me.
The cries of the gulls that
once called me
hauntingly
to introspection
now
sound
simply
like
scavengers'
cries.
Still
that sound
brings me to
wonder what
has eaten
away
the passion
of my soul.
Perhaps
I am
not
so
unmoved.
Lyn Taylor Hale 12/28/2020
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