I would write on the lintels of the door-post, Whim. I hope it is somewhat better than whim at last, but we cannot spend the day in explanation. -- Ralph Waldo Emerson
Wednesday, June 24, 2015
We Come to Ourselves
This poem was delivered to me in a dream, on vacation, after whiling the day away on the beach, reading and wondering and adoring. It's for my wife, who touches me every day with the depth of her commitment and courage.
"We Come to Ourselves"
You are a big, beating heart
shining in the darkness,
looking for answers.
But there are no answers,
only other hearts.
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