not much feels currently
graced with grace
not much feels
ready to bloom
not much has stuck by
when i tried to hold on
not much remains
sturdy and true
but there was something
almost a music
even when the moon
slicked away
there was a low humming
an alien buzz
even in the dark
and deep pools
sometimes just a friend
asking about
sometimes a meal
surprisingly good
often the sun when it
peers through clouds
makes a day easier
to get by
most often i know
it's the oldest of all
lights that have
followed me down
the self making wisdom
inside of a pen
that scratches when paper
is unrolled
here there is something
i can only call
grace
even when all brightness
fails
something forgiving
that goes on growing
even when i
look away
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