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Chicago building at Randolph and Wacker

There are moments that wrap their fingers around me
and press me close. Moments when Time as lover
covers my back, leans soft and hot into my ear
and whispers, “Stop here. Now notice”.

And so I do, and so life opens,
unfolding layer, upon layer, upon layer.
The earth shudders with déjà vu
bringing worlds into overlap, into fleeting touch.

Within that touch waits a servant of the gods
who lives in days long before I knew breath.
She is wears deep awe, standing at the doorway of divinity’s home,
her bare, brown feet warmed by sun-touched, milky marble.

I see through her hazel eyes and feel all of her.
I ponder if she was, or is, or could be me (or once-me).
I too stand in awe before a temple, this one of glass and steel,
and wonder if it ever knew its gods or questions where they’ve gone.

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