while downloading an image of poet Christian Wiman

this is how a face turns into light.   this is how light makes face of a moon.
this is where the memory of night resides inside.   this is dark inside bright.
this is how light faces a question.   this is how it was marked.   this is how it took the name and called itself doubt.
this is hair cropped short.   this is skin close scented like a rose.   this is blood.
this is rhythm.   here is a poem on your lips, or your word for hesitant faith.
this is the ear held close to earth.
here is what fog suddenly lets fall into dawn, eyes and nose and mouth like pearls.   here is breath.   just one of us.   here a cup is raised.   here is thirst.
here there are no words for why.

and why I won’t circumvent my own doubts of doubts.

every wind deserves a breath.   swallow.   speak.

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