Return
The movement is in so many places
quietly
in backseats and bars
break rooms and bus stops
if you blink, you might miss it,
you might not see
the beauty in your face.
Perhaps
I’ve been caught blinking,
or running
quickly past it all
amidst the rain
amidst that which weighs
heavily on our hearts.
I’m a fighter, I think,
braving the weather
unprepared equally
for the thunder and the sun,
always gazing through the rainbow
at the on-setting storm,
believing in a future
that is hiding in the present,
if only I looked up more often
to recognize it.
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