Words That Breathe

You turn the page. The 7 a.m. sun

angles its rays to touch the Bible script

with sheen upon print, with light upon written light.

Ideas are lost if we should fail to find

in them new worth.

In you,

old words are scenting freesia whose

loveliness nurses the suffering air.

Mistakes have no breath here; the hanging heat

forgets to hurt; the young hopes seethe.

You grow.

The past becomes

the entry of the forgiving

present; and the future -

the unforeseen

journey of the vibrant, fragrant now....

The old words breathe.

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