It Is

 

It is a precious and unbearable pain, this living we do, this life of
ours so fragile and lithesome so everything so right and wrong
so here and now and so mostly nowhere and as near as ourselves.

It is a fearsome gift so strong and great and looming ever and ever
a horizon of never, a line stretched taught to the end of now but
always waiting for yesterday to slide under the edge of today.

It is a dream sprinkling small wet rainbows on blue blue oceans of
hopeful wishes and castaway thoughts left shining on sandy shores on
history’s pebbles with rounded shoulders and sad faces.

It is news that we hear when we hear what we want when we want what
we have when we are who we are…and yet it’s more and less than we hope
and dream but always always always it is us and it is us again and again.

It is all we can know and all we can be and all we can see and all we can
say but it is never the end it is never tomorrow it is never that which we
can’t truly have and hold and love and be.

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