Poetry Is My Protest: Poem #7
If we are quick
We may outrun these inhospitable hours
when reluctant cities pause between speech, where oceans inhale between waves.
If we are agile
we may stop the circus of our sun
long enough to imbibe ourselves upon wonder
to procure the fragrant rest where songs and second natures are born from silhouettes.
We go down as water and emerge as wine
germinate the holy in pots of clay
We step across the precipice
Suspended between fear and fascination
tangled in braids of grace.
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