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
of holy books, mere
hours before,
absorbs me

its declaration
reveling within me
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
would act

casually turning pebbles
in the presence
of miracle

(c) 2013 Fred Whitehead


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