christmas morning

it's a quiet relief in the city

without the wash of cars

and moaning trucks.

no shuffle of pedestrians

or their problems :

i slide along the night's snowfall

past cozy homes full of fire

and laughter, and shiny excess.

stuffing their

eyes and bellies

with sweets and half purposed dreams.

i walk alone, unattached. Free

as the cry of the lone seagull

carrying her ocean sounds

a long long way from shore.

ice over evening

of shared cider and hearts broken

passing us through and through

Tonglen for the Lonely:

breathing in

and out again,

perhaps it could be our last.

watching those dying before me

in quiet vigilance

disturbed or quiet,

lonely or full of family,

each is perfect

and well attended by the Unseen helpers.

a coffee on christmas morning

for the jolly home free meth man

who lives on the corner simply. Free.

reminding me, 'is there any other way to be?'


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