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October 25, 2007

We pause for a moment,
stifling sound,
tuned to our cycling and
recycling blood,
drinking breath,
impossibly boundless and still.

Each pulse comes flooding.
We’ve passed here before;
once I heard music,
once there was rain,
once we found shelter,
once we had time.

The seconds are spilling
unbearable sweetness;
moving’s unthinkable,
waiting is pain.
Lost in a minute,
matter and mind
we are moved again.

by K. Cohen

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  1. October 28, 2007 at 10:27 am

    I love this poem. Such natural rhythm, creating such sweet sadness. Beautiful work, thank you.

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