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PoetryRecovery

Sentinel touch on the cheek
leads the door
out, the cold -
"you can do this
on your own."

Not a chance to murmur
or cry. The sky wide
so dark, so empty.
I look up -
so small on nothing.

The first step, the hardest;
forward, cautious
alone -
so intimate:
silence.

To catch grace on heels
swift the rapid pass;
the cracks
in pavement
blur -

breathe the heat
of movement;
chasing light:
the crossroads
of morning,

swallowed in
the maw;
shot through
the canon -
Holy.

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