A Grand Laying of Hands by David L. Erben
I have seen but not believed.
summer might as well
not have been. strangely,
autumn follows spring.
a child's song edges
into cries of the kestrel.
voices within the sea's heaving chrysalis
mount to a dirge lifting on the wind.
at last, a grand laying on of hands
reaches me, wandering
fallen buildings.
I place this broken spirit
on an ancient altar of stone,
and press my face.
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