The Preacher

You are a beautiful skeletal inspiration
projecting truth, provoking emotional congregation
humans can’t help but respond
eyes can’t help but correspond.

Isn’t that how it has always been with love?
The sound of the wind gives up telling.
The brightness of the sun gives up blinding—
all is matter not mind, ripe fruit
without an avenue to reincarnation.

Fallen, this body into the ground.
Achingly present in this Earth.
Forage me now so I can be found.

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