Psalm 22

With the Living Tree’s bark rough on his back
and the lovebirds dancing in the sky,
Adam cried out his fear:
he does not – no, he cannot
perpetual unwholeness.

Born into paradise,
he ached for more.

The Breath whispers, in humility,
It is not good to be alone.

The tears on his lips
convince me that when I
perched last night on a rounded root
of the knotted oak
in the park
by the lake
and cried about being
it was actually,
all along,
a life-long

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