the needles, the forest floor
the iron filings cross and line up
the forest floor
the open fields
ruff and flatten
the matted hair, the deserted nest
last years home, not a peep
the rhythm of a life, all life,
whirling, whipping, going still
all of us, all of life revolving in our perfect ways
looking up
yes, you are right
we revolve around our eyes
our eyes don’t change
the eye of the spiral
our clothes slide in and out
our hair flies out and in
our mouths open and close
our brows arc, dive
the iron filings cross and line up
but our eyes don’t change
the eye of the spiral
looking up
as the seasons press past
as birth and death circle
looking up
saying i love you god
at least one of them.
incarnating beauty, thank you
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