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In Our Bones

It has been

for years

in my bones.

A friendship -

incandescent -

over dark grey roads.

I didn’t see

the compass points with fear

Or learn a map

with danger on its lines.

Instead I saw

a map of veneration

opened like a clockwork

globe of gold

or like a beehive

live with new creation

we walked and rode

and flew to other worlds.

I don’t know if

my son

will know this beehive

or if he’ll have

this eminence to hold.

So let us take a stand

just to remember

what it is like to grow

with laughing skies

the open doorways

wide upon the moment,

the cities that have offered up their hands.

I used to make a journey

on a long bus,

from Prague to England

trying not to fly

And something about

crossing in the darkness

across the sky-lit breadth of

mapped out roads

Felt at once very old,

and very open,

As if we lived a story

we’d been told.

So I will tell

my son

that same long story

For what we tell

is sometimes what becomes.

And know that there’s

more space inside

my being,

because I grew up

with it in my bones.

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