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  • All we can hope for is momentary safety,
    One moment by one, we hope for it.
    Nobody can say more than this.
    Moment by moment my little prayer is
    Save me one more time and thank you for this one moment.
    I take the breath in;
    I send it out;
    I send it out
    And that is that.
    Inside each breath, unheard-of moments.
    Can I ride each one? Can I know it?
    This tear that rolls along my face
    Is not made up of sorrow, nor rain that runs down each window, no.
    No more than weather is made of will.
    These watery forms take meaning from the observer alone.
    By themselves, insensibly, they come, given meaning here.
    Oh, look, a tear.
    My eye has sprung a leak.
    The rain loves my garden or hates dryness.
    I don’t know.
    I don’t think these forms emote that way.
    But for the poem, they are,
    Only are.
    We put the meaning to them and take the gift of our own meaning-making.
    Tear, dear tear, dear wet, dear rain, each grateful liquid gift.
    Each gift, conscious moment.
    Each thank you note to God.
    This rain cannot be beat.
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