Soup

What will happen to my poetry
when I take all the seeking out,
all the images of journeys, struggles,
trains and pathways, when I just want to
be where I am because that’s where God is?

What will happen when
my breath is company enough
and I no longer need cynicism
to protect me from the pain
of my unrealized dreams
or shadows to hide them in?

Then I will write about the way
you dip your spoon in your soup,
the way you purse your lips to cool it
and close your eyes when you taste it,
I will write about how I feel your pleasure
and your joy when you do because
then I will be completely in love.

DF. 24-1-2021 1445

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