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January 24, 2018

Rain down Pure Joy

upon my cheeks:

tears, mine and the skies

to share.

Water, water, no taste, no form,

Gives itself to herbs and fruits and grains

and us.

Pure Joy upon my lips

and in my veins, may I flow into my truest

form — formless.

One with all that becksons.

Presence with the world.

Presence with the flow.

Oh sweet rain help these seeds to grow!

May I reap what I sow,

these teardrop seeds of my soul.

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