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On Being Here
Let's move out to the twin rockers on the porch. I'll give you the one facing west, and we can watch together the yellow lab as he trots down the street; no longer rambunctiously lean, he wears the solid form that old, well-fed dogs possess. We are but minor rockings to him, somewhere in the periphery, barely extant, like any confident neighborhood stray he keeps his nose up, his pace steady and fixed, on his way, perhaps, to a memorable hydrant. You and I know time is valuable, and a poem can only give so much, but if you've got a minute, wait here with me that much. I promise you any moment now a breeze will cross over the porch to steal a little of the stuff that makes us us, and in this way we'll both be giving ourselves up to the wind. You can find this poem in Healing the Divide: Poems of Kindness and Connection.