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Would you know the degree of illumination the moon was willing to bestow upon you if you turned your open face skyward to take her in? What if there was a time when she called you by your first of names, when your heart had not needed any reminder to unfold itself in her presence? When the air between you and her was full of velveted darkness and your brothers and sisters lifting around you to show you that the sense of alone stitched to your spine is illusion only? 

Would the degree of illumination matter, or would simply being held in her light be enough for you to know? To trust again? To lift skyward, following the arc of your eyesight like looking into the apex of the upcoming curve in the road on a motorcycle moving fast enough that you are always looking ahead so as to not stumble by looking down? 

Don’t look, my love. Just lean into the uplift and rise with me. Everything is waiting for us, even the moon herself.

copyright/©2019 Dora E. McQuaid

All peace to each one of you. Dora

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