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You Tell Me

The silver tops of prophet’s beard bounce in the autumn breeze

the rust and browns and golds all that is left of the brilliant colors

the sky a study in values of grey as the golden rays of sunshine

cast a spot light on the land, here, and over there.

My breath is a white cloud in the crisp morning air

as I tilt my head up to look for the geese I can hear passing over head.

I have this thing inside me, an emptiness

a fullness

that I cannot begin to express

it is not a wanting, nor is it a needing

but it is a noticing

Sometimes I feel like everything is wrong

as though the world had other plans for me

and I

oblivious

have missed all the sign posts.

Othertimes I feel like everything is right

and the sun is shining a spotlight

and like a line from MacBeth

I strut and fret my hour upon the stage.

And now I am in the middle

looking left and then right

and asking myself

a lot of important questions

ones I cannot begin to verbalize

but are searing in their quest for truth

poignant in their quest for meaning

wise in their quest for understanding.

A big rough and strong hand gently reaches for me

and my belly is full of butterflies

as I remember

what it is to be loved, and to love.

And here I thought,

it was just the hormones of youth

like a baby smiling because it has gas.

Am I wincing, or is it just a really big grin?

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