Gary L. Whited, Ph.D.
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Eden


blue wind shaped the first guitar,
made it ocean, made it swimming tigers,
made it shine light to that face only my
hands could find, made it yellow the edges
of old albums, made it cosmos,
made it chicken house, windmill
and water tank holding, made me long
for the sea, dive deep, my eyes
find bright coral glowing, made grass
blow under the east wind, brought
sound spilling from every tongue over lips
full-kissed when god touched the tree, touched me,
touched you, carved words, touched our hips
to dance, spun our blood into new marrow,
called it love, called it mud, hawk, turtle,
called it here, called you mine, called me yours,
called everything until calling stuttered our lips
to silence, to kiss, to lie still, to hold tight,
to let this go


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