Pledge

We must do
everything better
than we did before,

devote our attention to
each word or glimmer
of sadness and of shame,
of sweetness and of fury,
and to all the holy voices.

Time to hold each stone
in our bare hands –
turn it over and over,
smell it, taste it
and feel the shape of it,

expose our skin to
the air of early morning,
let our fingers trace
the landscape
of the small hand
that walks beside us.

What revelation
in the boldness of a blue sky
and in the frost that gathers
at the edges of November
grass, where a deer,

still as the Buddha,
sits with eyes wide open
even as the season
turns to cold.

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