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Gratefulness
Sometimes it just stuns you like an arrow flung from some angel’s wing. Sometimes it hastily scribbles a list in the air: black coffee, thick new books, your pillow’s cool underside, the quirky family you married into.
It is content with so little really; even the ink of your pen along the watery lines of your dimestore notebook could be a swiftly moving prayer.
Posted by kind permission of the poet.
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