It doesn't have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch
a few words together and don't try
to make them elaborate, this isn't
a contest but the doorway
into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.
A woman was washing her legs,
One man was carrying a child --
love throbbing everywhere
And the adult world kept quiet
in reverence.
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