I wish I could show you
the ancient starlight
pouring into your body
through this breath.
I wish I could reveal
the power of your heartbeat,
one now, one now,
and the stillness between,
how it turns the world.
I want to share 
the withered Gospel
of an alder leaf,
but its whisper is too quiet.
The chime of raindrops
after midnight
threading your dreams
through emptiness.
What wind and sky,
the moon in her falling snow,
the fur of healing curled
around its silent wound,
long to tell you:
that who you strive to become
is not nearly so lovely
as who you Are.

~Fred LaMotte

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