Take my hand, and sit very still.
We will listen carefully
as the doves whisper stories
about life in the forest of dreams
that turn red and gold
and drop to mulch the future
so that nothing is ever wasted.
The plan that you have always seen
so clearly continues to elude me.
All my windows of opportunity
are smudged with fingerprints
(the distraction of people, events, and places)
until some are seen too late
and others missed entirely.
On the days when I can see clearly,
I sing glad tidings --
for such quiet moments of sharing
and for the certainty of your love.
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