Drill into the core of my being.
Search for sacred mineral, an eternal thing, something not destroyed by daily chores.
Something that responds when a choir of angels sing.
For what is buried, soon may wash to shore among the waxing crescent parting curtain leaves.
The clapping of rain, an encore, the last inch of candle burning,
and what is best expressed by blessing, sleep wills me to ignore.
Cover Art: “Princess Cotton Grass” by John Bauer, 1915
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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