You asked for fifty cents,
I gave you five dollars.
It was what I had
And that's a gift to me, isn't it?
Your asking,
And my giving.
And my realizing how wealthy
I am today
To have met you,
In your black dress,
With your red-tipped hair.
Your leather boots,
And your face damp
With late spring rain.
Gratitude comes
In small doses.
Ordinary encounters
Like walks in the rain,
And roses,
Tangled up in sky.
And there is love possible
In each moment
Of every day if
We pause and notice.
If we talk to one another.
If we remember
Who we are.
Not alone.
Not isolated but
Mycorrhizal networks
snaking underground.
And canopies of branches,
Leafed with green.
Our blood is filled
With the death of
One thousand stars.
We shine here,
On this muddy
Concrete-covered earth.
We shine.
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Great poem! Loved it!