Gift
He asked for the most beautiful song
but it was dark, and I couldn’t find
my voice. Isn’t that where songs live?
he asked. In place of song, a braided
line of praise will do. But the light
from my eyes was gone, taking with it
all the tendriled vines. So he said,
a sign from your soul. But I didn’t
know I had one, until I reached inside
and pulled out the small aching thing,
hungry as a newborn, perfectly blind.
Copyright © Taylor Graham | Year Posted 2006
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