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Gentle is His Telling


We are in Church

singing an old traditional

while I wait for the joy

in the familiar refrain


I notice my mother's eyes on me

soft and green as the spirit of the hymn


a small smile colors their corners

and I feel comfort in her gentle gaze




Church has become a forest

and I wait at the base

of a seven foot jump

praying that he won't crash


later, he tells of the time in the air

and the way he encouraged his bike


he feels my eyes on him

watching the gift of each word


gentle is his telling

gentle is the landing