it is always something of a miracle when we find life
is still with us.  never gone, just silent sometimes
because we forgot the secret word to slip the traces
and let the hawks take wing to hunt the wasted energies.
sometimes we need a kiss in the morning, or arms honest
with the sweat of a well-earned fire banked for the night.
mount the kite into the heavens and look down in wonder
the thunder rolls down so rarely and we are often too tired
to engage in the military maneuvers of a maximum minuet.


copyright William F. DeVault (wfdv)