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Awash in a Dream
The sunlit morning dapples here,
and drenches there—
and i’m awash in this dream.

A celebration of unseen hosts of birds.
The whirring wisdom,
and near miss of a fly.
The whispering homage,
from the top of the oaks.
The gentle waving cadence,
in the prayer of the spider’s web.
The complicated rhythm of every
bloom in sight.
The joy of the impossible dancing
of the butterflies on the breeze—
like Truth and Love walking
on the face of the waters. . .

i am afraid to move—
Afraid that i may break their spell,
and send them crashing to the ground,
where logic tells me they should be.

But then i realize. . .
this is not a dream.
There is no spell.

Like the gentle kiss, and warm embrace,
of this morn—it is Grace,
that keeps them there.

The Kingdom of Heaven is at hand!
i have been on the far reaches of it’s borders.
And on this day, as on any other,
the journey’s born anew!
As this sunlit morning dapples here,
and drenches there,
and speaks to the
heart of the child,
a message soft and true.

This poem is © copyright by mark macdonald

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