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(Montara Beach, California)

I stood there,
on the thin ribbon of chance
where the road ended,
looking down

at the sea
as it nursed a mood
of spectacular fury

the possibility of falling
replacing my heartbeat

and being acutely
aware of my purest form:
part search,
part leap of faith,
part averted suicide

a pilgrim
knees trembling, trying
to stand inside the whirlwind
of a miracle that
keeps on happening

a witness
and a living prayer
to nature’s awesome power

This is God, I heard
the words lifting
where the horizon is far
and the life-and-death-wide
divide from the great rocks
wave crash
and fate, bone-white
is larger than
the enduring story

core of creation
and understanding within
that authoritative
thesis of chaos

This is worship,
me weeping
and lost

reveling in my post-truth,

sitting in a box
of the well-rehearsed
and synchronized,
black and white lines
nitpicking verses from a Book
and being afraid
of the questions
scribbled on the margins

“First Light” by photographer Kevin Stokes


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