Bubble

i cannot gather 

your dandelion seedlings 

when winds 

choose

to chase them,

nor carry

your hopes

as delicate as bubbles

in my pocket…

but sometimes

i get to sit 

with you on warm rocks

and drink 

hot chocolate 

around the camp fire

while you 

play your harmonica…

both of us watching

our prayers 

spot heaven

somewhere above 

the Jordan

you, me and the night sky

waiting 

for Love to wrap its blanket

around our shoulders

and carry us 

home

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