for the catching hold.

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She skips
fluttering through
the freshly mown grass

her arms floating
through the purple-
blue night air;

the fireflies sparkle
above and beside her
so she sings to them

in her own voice
soft and high,
the angels’ gloria,

praise
and joy
in an effortless beatific vision.

She catches not one
and not one lands
upon her,

but upon us fall
innocence and beginning
sparkling, floating,

fluttering and manifesting
love for the grasping,
for the catching hold.

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One response »

  1. Oh Amy, I love this and “love for the grasping, for the catching hold” I can just see her and the fireflies! I can hear her singing! Great poem…the details are lovely!

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