rising and riffing a ruckus of joy…

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Happy freshborn hope,
sweet bounty of more-than-enough-ness
breaking through debt so dark and deep and despairing
that the hollow grave  seems to bellow out slivers of light
all shimmering like jellybeans and jazz.

Happy glass-ceiling-smashing,
big-fat-lie-dashing,
turning bitter waters  sweet again
as burden-flinging,  freebird-singing
love draws near to heal and nuzzle,
softens mind and quiets puzzle
and the music down inside blooming quiet

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till it rises and riffs a ruckus of joy
and my feet get caught up in the current
and I dance without thinking
and catch myself in someone’s eyes
and realize I’m singing right out loud

with all that resurrection running through my fingers,
grubby from little nubs of pastels
and reeses peanut butter egg
and it doesn’t matter,  never mattered,
because still i can lean in and listen soft for feathery whisper low
(funny how it lives in the  quiet
and not in rush or strive or struggle)

and i melt and mellow
like peeps over a campfire
into the tender embrace
of strong, warm, shepherd kindness
and oh how this soothes and settles,
satisfies and solutions me,
raising me from the dead stuff I’ve believed
and loving me back to life
in all my parts and places.

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“You step into my emptiness until it’s all gone,
you  slide into my starless night and shine like the sun…”

“sitting by the fire of your eyes…”

-John Mark Mcmillan

(well I went and skipped a week~didn’t post a whole week~
letting that sink in and grinning a little sorry
~i’ve got something cooking and just couldn’t leave
the stove just yet.  i love you wholehearted still)