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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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