Late this morning
with the tide (perhaps
a bit too high)
the cynic in charge of belief
fell silent.
The log was damp,
the air, still thick
when a little boy
sat down too hard
in the sand
and you smiled.
Then, I knew peace,
a willow's peace,
born only to lay hands
on the occasional high tide.
I wonder,
what will awe me
a second time?
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