in Poetic Prose

Children's Letters to God

A sigh, soft, but I know it well.
Your arms flung over my shoulders, your body against my back.
That is to say
You enfold me with your breath.
These meetings, once so unexpected, have not lost any of their wonder now that I have come to know that you will always be here.
No, this does not grow old. Such words are formless here. Shadows without voice or substance. Here is the presence of the creative. Not simply the imaginative but that which brings something out of nothing.
kaine ktisis

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