One song,
and an almighty marathon
of forty-two rounds,
A precious opportunity for Spirit
to glimpse its own multi-faceted mystery
reflected back and forth
without remorse,
A force of such gentleness
that masks fall
and a true person steps out from the mist,
shining with such intensity
that my gaze flounders in disbelief.

Time skips
and I, sore feet and raw eyed
smile through tender space
and reach a face
that I swear is mine.

Every word is a fresh note of feeling,
never the same, yet underneath
one truth remains,
We are here.
As through myriad splashes
the river sings a single song,
unchanged since long ago,
Reminding us
that we are not alone.