DeAnne Lyn Smith






Anyone who’s ever felt air alone
gush buzzing blue into her lungs—
how at six a.m. fizzing with
strangers’ wishes it whistles
in and out of her nose and mouth—
doesn’t need to be told a golden
thing; she knows in every
small, dark early of every
nascent day, every cell
in her body conspires with the essential
unseen, tugging toward unexpected
blessings the way drops of ocean water
surge for distant stars.


Copyright © 2004 DeAnne Lyn Smith.  All Rights Reserved.

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