The Pilgrimage, Book II: Part 32 / Phillip Neal Tippin
When I get up and my attention walks across the room
The overpowering of the individual
Rain just enough
To wet the crust
And streak the cheeks
Of our poor, dusty creek.
Rain wet the lips of the land,
Open to hymn the gift given
Across the blue Lazarus chasm
The tender age of eighty
If pounding begins early
The Surfacing of Himself
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