To write a poem
or to read one
it takes a certain kind
of heart
one that stops
for a moment
or has a seizure
before
resuming
A poet can not have
many friends
nor the reader
each
odd
in discrete
disguise
A warp in the weave
Sometimes
the heart
seizes
in the warmth of
God’s breath
and wordless whisper
Not an experience
reserved for poets
or readers
or believers
At all.
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