books - so many
and windows over the whitewashed walls
that kept nothing out
but allowed so many deaths
that my palette was seared to a bloody grey

now armed only with my hands
I rise again to the blue of wholeness
part wise
I who have forgotten everything
slide along the drizzled schist
to quartz veins, like small triumphs
with courage as my only guide
till death or meditation
reveal that we were always here
in the face of life’s erosions
and there is no diminishment
only a choice between love and fear

blessings to a courageous woman

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