Thursday, July 14, 2011


Who knows what miracles are
Any more? Not me,

Who has grown tired
Of the details

Of a jaded life.
Traveling to the funeral

Of my uncle, waiting
For a flight long delayed.

Sun setting over tower,
Planes queuing on runway

Straining for unknown destinations.
I remember the long walks

Through half empty airports.
No one to say goodbye to;

No one to say hello.
And I know:

My life now
Is miracle.

-after Whitman


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