on this Sunday morning

I could not bear a sense of

being bound in the wordy, veneered in

pilfered affirmations or vagrant passages, so, I

stood at the window. My eyes

coursed along coyote tracks

left in the snow; a drifting mosey, northerly and

braided. The wolf of the prairie had

skulked in a stillness lit

by the moon adorned with Australia’s daylight.

My helping spirit had passed in the night

to remind me

he is on this burdened earth


in this moment, striving. I took my

rightful place in the universe.

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