The Rapture of Dichotomies

we give ourselves the joy of creation. the breath of expansion; the fingers of a hand closing. we speak of a tree or a peach and know it as the gift to ourselves we had forgotten. the reach for a reminder of our perfection. each why or touch a wonder and on this night and within this form you can be a candle in the dark. a swish of sound, the silent breathing of a bathing light, and another sunrise comes. at times such beauty brings the gift of tear. filling our pockets, as the meat of our flesh rolls down. leaves turning brown, you see. another mother leaves the door a crack someone there in the light just beyond, is lost in the rapture of dichotomies.