Life goes on. (Said the poet.)
A weed will grow back.
A bird can sing.
Hate won’t help.
Food will.
Race is made up.
You can save a life.
You want to live your life.
Now is the only time.
A kiss, real or not, can heal.
A hug will help.
Your arms hold my back.
My arms hold your back.
Veins lace.
See the mix of our air rise.
My lips on your lips.
Feel our spit slip.
This is good.
This is lost.
Who can say what this will mean?
Can you make love with a hand wave?
Will you find the ease to sing solo?

All I know is this:

Many ones is not the same as one many.
We need to be we.
I is a myth.

And I know this, too:

Sun will set.
But moon will rise.
And many a star will show and glow.

We have most of what we need:
ear, eye, nose, arm, leg, foot, hand, soul, skin, bone
We miss, tho’:
the beat, the beat, the beat
the flow, flow, flow.

Sky, dirt, sea, mist
rain, for sure, snow, too.

Tint and hue
of red or blue, dim, dark, gray, gold, even pink, aqua, teal.

Food, yes,
but can we live on meat and peas? Milk, eggs, a bean or two, corn, stew, soup, kale but only a lime?
Well, wine and beer may fill the gaps.

Sail a boat, run a race, take a walk in the park, ski, hike, play. Work. Do.

Four of a kind. You win.
Dead man’s hand. You lose.
And all that jazz.

We may be sad and glad and mad.
Warm and cool, hot and cold.
Wind can blow over us all.

I don’t know much, but I do know this,
Even with less we have so much.
We can grow…holy…here.
Let’s stay, to pray, and be.

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