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He walks with me
in the meadows of my mind
through patterns and rhyme
and meters I’d long forgot
until he pointed
at them lying in leaves
of dappled brown.
He taught me how to listen
for the sound of light on water
seen only in
peripheral and gone if I turn
my face to gaze
to understand the need  
for touch,
how time
slows down
when the fog comes in
and sound is muffled in a
cool, moist cloud
how loudly silence rings
in trees hissing in the wind
and remembering the
joy of standing underneath
the mossy oak
Strong, like those limbs
that cupped us, children,
unaware that wind
can crush us or caress
and how to know the difference.
Find shelter from the storm.

5 Jan 08

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