5.20

fingers of sunlight mark brown

waters with limb shadows

against the sky.

sitting on the bank, a small

boy with fishing bobber

haunts

my images as if Huck and

Tom left me there when I

wasn’t looking.

breezes flow, eyes close, and

Irish monks reappear on

coastlines

where they sat to sense God’s

air and life without the world

distracting.

softness as challenging now

as then waits upon the

dawning.

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