when comes the sun

there's something of comfort in cloudy days: hugs hung from the atmosphere, buffers rested between us and the outside unknown. but problems ensue when we little humans construct our own little clouds for our own little lives - constructions of groundless fear, warptions of ignorant comfort loosely based in the gifts of atmospheric embrace.

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bearthed

gravity the weighing of objects the weight of thoughts unstrung like dust in the moonlight carrying on unbound for chance at matter mattering to matter to be

whispers of the water

waded to wait wayward we fly past tall buildings of water of living light we know them feel them are them but do not know them as our own we turn obligatory circles whispers reach us and we learn

redirect

amongst the ferns we wicker and scare yearning for the little finger chance to pay us mind our due but overdue is our submission to grace of abundance our invitation to everlasting the times of coming

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©2021 by Rivka Rothstein

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