And this, too (May 5)

First conscious breath
parting eyes wipe clear
morning’s lolling shadows
day tumbles in
returning you to now
where all is
and
all is story.

Stare back as Herschel gazed up:
focus our lens to find us,
those who have brought us here
in tales: epics, fragments,
heroic ballads, family histories,
nostalgic gatherings and first words.
Endings.

Blank lines will not
explode, overheat, ignite or
turn against their maker
and if I had one chance
I would tell them that
every poem is a story
every verse an eye-blink
drawn from memory, from life
because poetry – and this –
is for the storytellers.

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