Space
Space, immobile as the wind that never stirs
unless some pivotal calm inherits, serves,
I love you there, the being not unnerve!
Where silence walked beside, between embalm
of yesterday, our joy, our moment's psalm,
I love thee there, not in conventions alms.
I love thee, giving praise
when all else harms,
a necessary space, the self's alarm!
I love thee though alone
God's promised balm!
Copyright © Paula Larson | Year Posted 2007
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