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Pouring

 

chords in the wind float

fill the soul

words and notes

drown empty spaces

soak

like nothing else

 

 

a dry, withering, empty, cracked ground

needs water, replenishing, a pouring

to sprout shoots, seedlings,

full with the promise of fruit,

and the hope and desire of a deeper place,

held in the hollow of a gentle, powerful hand