They passed by.
The waves of storms rolled toward sunrise.
To the west a rainbow was pierced
with a serrated knife of electricity.
To the east tufts of clouds
like pale pink umbrellas hung.
Intervals of solid rain tucked me
under the soffit to read.
Ann wrote about the pursuit of beauty
and there I was under it, in it.
Praise had come as rain.
Praise left my mouth.
Praise was sent to find the source of beauty.
My most significant Other read to me poetry.
I heard His inflections and cadence.
Oh my God, I am undone,
yet what better place to be unraveled
than under an umbrella with You.
“Doubt the philosophies, doubt the prophecies, doubt the Pharisees (especially the ones seen in mirrors), but Who can doubt this, Beauty? Beauty requires no justification, no explanation; it simply is and transcends. See beauty and…
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