Thursday, September 17, 2009

Horizon Sun Mountain

The sun on leaves, and wind
blowing through
the trees says

good morning,
you are holy

How the wind speaks,
I do not

how light or air are certain
I am
is beyond me,

but the sun, a mountain
rising, tells me
it is morning,

and the wind through dry rustling
leaves tells me,
it is autumn.

If all else I am told is true,

how then,
do I doubt?

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