Between abyss And expanse We live. As those who have not reckoned but been reckoned. Between the shriek of the abyss and the folds and folds of heaven We move like bees suspended in amber: An intense need to rush, And the impossibility of doing so. Hued in time. Would that we were light and could dance – But still the sun catches us, irradiates, sometimes, As we hang suspended. Traipsing our nine-to-five lives. I recall that trees grow with no particular schedule. One fibrous glory of a leaf every calendar eon. We are doing our best. And the trees grow, a wonder, to bless us.
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At the end of a year, you’ll have a manuscript! Write on!
Oh, those last two lines. This poem holds so much hope---it holds me as I read. Thank you!