The Spaces

It takes two broken
hands to discover

that love lives
in the palms,

not in the tips
of fingers.  It takes

a broken plan
to learn that love

is in the unknown,
not in the certainty.

It takes a breaking open
to know that love is

the branches gently
bowing, the rustle

of springtime leaves,
and in the breeze

that blows between
the spaces

of our questions
softly spoken.

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