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the way i land on my feet depends on the way i look at things on the way down
sometimes
even the smallest pain will grow wings and lead to advances in wrong thinking
and other times
the mere mention of a name
related to past mistakes
will settle in and break my train of thought
into a container not much to my liking
but large enough for drowning in my own tears.
the long distance of substitutes
i reach for pictures of beauty to unveil her secrets
spread out before me
the garden opens
inviting my small fingers to kiss the lips of her altar
this church i visit often
and only when i am alone.
Chris Knab
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