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Light chaser.
Forever finder.
I am.
I was arms wide
through fields
chasing our sun down
in her perfect gold.
I still haven’t recovered.
She made a warmth in my belly,
grew me into the hunger
of a woman
that I am.
Days seeking her
made me robust in spirit
and resilient on foot.
When hopelessness,
wet and heavy,
envelopes you,
find her—
our sun.
Look a fool if you must.
Fall.
Stumble.
Run for her presence
that so tenderly requires
you to remember
how to just honestly be.
Over and over
again.
One day,
you’ll hand someone a flower
and say nothing.
Your eyes will lock
like destined magnets
into a kinship
you’ve always had in your bones.
And with upturning cheeks
you’ll see that they know about her,
and her light,
that all the flowers synchronically rose to her.
And this is a human
who you wrap up in your jacket
and hobble home with, as one.
Being
a deep meadow
comes with a knowing
that not many will
tread in that far.
Find the ones that live to be—
and know that they are—truly yours.
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