~June 2019

Poetry may save me
if I am willing —

“And the Word became flesh.”
Christ is known to me this way.

The rustle and moan of vibration
flowing-peace-words of poetry.

I think this-poetry was our first
conversation.

Before
the smell of rain on a dirt driveway,
the blue and white moving clouds —

As I lay on deep green grass
staring upward — mesmerized

without separateness of identity
to confuse me.