The Pilgrimage: Part 7 / Phillip Neal Tippin

I lost touch with contingency
Until the spring broke suddenly.

Rather than
Letting the old,
Hemming the new
To fit my skin
Conform, grow
To Him.

A rhyme a day’s
A step away
From fleet time’s ever sway.

Plant a garden
To discover fruit

A corded heart grant
Passage you accord

When darkness covered the screen

How close can you get 
With accoutrement?

To take green umbrage 
With delight and pleasure.


All poetry and supplementary material: copyright 2020-2021 by Phillip Neal Tippin. All rights reserved.

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