Here’s a ROUGH draft of a poem I’m working on…

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I’ve neglected to record the signs when I encounter

the dismayed cries of two sparrows

caught in the aluminum rafters

of the high school in the early morning, the feeble

light creeping in the upper windows

_____________________

the dead purple petals

of a flower plucked

and pressed between the pages of a wedding program

tucked in a volume of poetry, forgotten

opened for an impromptu discussion

of the history of love

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the familiar hum of rain

on roof and splash in gutter

is the same, here

as home

though, I pause,

here is home now

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the one inch steel gauges

in the earlobes of your favorite drop-out

“Cristina” tattooed across the brown chest

peeking above the collar of his uniform

the rush of profanity uttered from his lips

briefly subsides “I realized…”

and he’s coming back

_________________________

the offender at the Jester III service,

Christmas eve, whose enlightened eyes fixed your gaze

from the front riser of the soprano section

missing his left leg, knee onward

stopped, balanced on his crutches

shook your hand

and you thought, ‘ whatever you do

to the least of these…’

and you were grateful

that God had paused and called

you (worthy of the title) “least”

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