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an ode to silent poets


You see
the precious gift
of ordinary things
as Pablo Neruda did,
but need no words,
pen or paper,
to bow

to olive oil
to the great night sleep
to the mossy rocks
to the blooming ocotillo
to the perfectly ripe avocado
to every day heroes
to hand-written letters
to spontaneous laughter
to fresh farm eggs
to the smiling stranger
to the desert’s wildflowers
to the world wide web
to bittersweet moments
to afternoon naps
to grey clouds
to slowing down
to stinging nettles
to soft blankets
to strange dreams
to the garbage man
to the graceful death

The simple gifts
your devotional being sees
as you move through life
fills you with that deep warmth
you silently beam out.

And that
is the gift
you are.


This impromptu poem was my contribution
to’s lovely invitation.