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Dangerous Grace

You can’t prevent the sun 

burning through your empty 

skies. You can’t prevent his reckless 

love, though you try, hiding behind 

small and barren words:  

I’m fine, I’m fine.


You can’t prevent the sunrise

climbing the hours to 103. 

No knob to turn--though you try,

hiding inside winter afternoons--

I’m fine, I’m fine--

while your heart sings

pink and gold, birdsong

 within your darkened rooms. 


You cannot shut the blinds

to life’s flock of birds 

swooping into sight, singing and 

flying with dangerous grace-- 

I love, I hate, I am alive--

the fire burns.

What can you do?

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