Skinny Poem: At Home, At Last

My cells

shimmer

in delicious stillness,

the inaudible

hum

of the

universe

courses through

my tides,

through this

nylon

folding chair,

through

the

80-year-old

cedar

in my yard.

Skinless,

I am

embedded

in the

fabric of

life itself,

distinct,

yet not

separate

in even

the

tiniest

way.

 

At home,

at last.

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