The Sight

There are days
I yearn for the language
to put all that speaks to me
before the world.
I dig into myself
looking for some gift of words like soil
to nourish the things unfurling in
and around
us all,
the spaces between
where relationship is written. Instead,
I find ash,
and the gentle invitation of a heart fire
fed by all that remains
yet unnamed
within me.
Perhaps it is enough
merely to look
with quiet eyes upon the world
and treasure the gift
of being
with all I cannot speak.

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