Stillness beats at tree and
sky
Where finer things sit bare,
on
Moments standing humbled
By an echo in the air.
No time for tongue to pulse
and grope
At fret or plucks of scorn
As truth has earnest company
When conscience walls are
torn.
It’s effortless communion
Not one cell tunes away.
That simple breath inhaled,
where
Eternal strikes its
day.by Kimberly Fiske
Words In Motion 2014
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