The Lesson
Place the honey on the tongue,
the feather in the palm, the sunlight
in the hair.
Call it compassion.
How we take the world and give an acre –
doesn’t all ground touch your same feet?
The lesson happens despite
the language, because speaking happens
without meaning.
Don’t you know
it gets cold
in San Francisco?
Haven’t you been worn
like fog?
I want to allow you the recognition
of your own softening.
3 thoughts on "The Lesson"
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The imagery here simultaneously makes me push both inwards and outwards. “Worn like fog” especially.
This is beautiful work!
Absolutely gorgeous writing!