in the presence

July 9, 2013 § Leave a comment

in the presence

Atlantic foam washes
over my feet
I am looking east

from here, on the crook
of the island,
I see horizons first glow

light that had illuminated
countries
of holy books, mere
hours before,
absorbs me

its declaration
reveling within me
this,
it sings,
is what you exist for

and for a second
or not much more,
I am weightless

the only witness,
a gull
working the morning tide

acting exactly
as someone,
who has
seen this kind of thing
before,
would act

casually turning pebbles
in the presence
of miracle

(c) 2013 Fred Whitehead

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