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Everything reaches
to the light that calls it,
the invisible moon at night
or any sliver that spills through
the blinds
Wings lift to tree tops and
roof peaks
Leaves rise in their slow stretch
toward the sun
Petals of certain flowers
open only with the morning
Everything reaches
to the light that calls it
As we move
into each day
even with bleakness
discomfort or doubt
there is some glimmer
from within
copyright 2012
Maryann
Russo |
