Every part

Every part

When everything is already hereand every part is part of every thing,we tread quietly and plant, lovingly,in the whole soil of the kind world.

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The wild part of me

The wild part of me is alsothe soft part of me.There are no claws, no teeth, no blood.Instead, an opening, a melting, a loving.A letting in and a giving out.

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Run away to home

There are days when I wantto run away to home—to that place that is right,where the ground smells like comfortand the trees wave hello. There are dayswhen I rememberand so—gladly—I come home,I am home,I am.

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Most alive

most alive

If we dare stop for a secondand let the cold seep inwe hear the world and realizewe are most alivewhen we die to ourselvesa little.

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