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for my friend wayne
sweeping clean with the black book
his parents kept house
funneling their ancestry of faith
the truth
as twisted as the wind
they carried it with them
so in his back pocket he carried his heart
until he had his own house to sweep
footprint on the unread black cover
stepstool to reach the window for a clearer view
he stood higher to see what he carried within him
footprints left the book behind
left behind the fire of the father and the mother
and passed up halls and preachers, past the prayers and the structure
to catch the wind of his own truth
awakening what he carries in his bones
putting his heart back in it’s rightful place
carried within
his own name for it
no tall tale, just Love
he carries it with him
it is and it does
bring one to weeping
to imagine all along, the truth steeping
the divine is the vitality of my life
can this be true?
we’re not separate from the light?
no need to reach out
but rather in
and see without a doubt
everything there is
the sprout sprung from the universal seed
is me
