not-so-Vincent

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Forests know more
Than we learn in our lifetimes
And the trees know our names--
They are the archive of our rise and fall

On their winds are the psalms of chanted grace

Epiphanies of mountains or tides 
Never astonish them--
They are older than the universes
And their presence, like falling rain, is everywhere.

The tilt-a-whirl arrival of seasons
Does not amaze their watch,
Reaching to the moon in their knowing sky

All that ruptures the veil of space
Or earth's mantle to declare, "I am"
Comes to rest beneath the stunning shelter of trees--
Never patronizing, ever merciful
And all are better for it

Cathedrals







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