It All Rises

Alan Harris

Slicing the mountain

with a cool silence you can smell,

slivers of pink light

rub and brush the crags.

My ribs thrill out past the horizon.

Weaving this sunrise

of mind,

heart,

spirit,

we immortally must kiss

from across a smiling distance.

The euphoria I feel

embracing your possibilities

proves underneath all doubt

there is a yes

of stranger stronger scentedness

(sleeping fifty million winks a second)

than possibly any manufactured no.

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