ENCHANTMENT
Understand the way grass blades embrace the wind:
That’s how I’m waiting to feel . . .
The
wind, frightening in its potential,
Is,
to the grass, the only thing real.
Belief
in the silence of the purest shaft of sunlight:
That’s all I’m asking to hold . . .
Whispering
from the skies, glowing on the leaves,
The
sunbeam’s life purpose is told.
Mimic
how drops of water collect light in the darkness:
That’s what I need to do . . .
Despite
their short durations, the droplets
Know
how to make one beauty two.
Gain
admittance past the quiet boundaries of your nature:
That’s where I wish to go . . .
Our
blood is bound by what we sense;
Enchantment
makes it so.
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