Driving across an old bridge and
seeing a cold curve of smooth water.
I want to send my hand across the
darkening blue surface, feel the
small warmth of a weak sun.
The lens slips and I see gently,
holding a soft feeling for the passing
green pines and holy onto this
shiny cement. It's like God is in
the car and the world is tender,
beautiful and briefly, eternal.
Is this time of twilight
with its swirl of dark and gray
when the spirits releasing their
bodies, find their way upward?
And after, when the sky shines
with the same silver gray echoed
in funerals. Is God mourning
our great losses and saturating
the sky in sadness?
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