Jeanne B. Cushman
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Today, space between yesterday
and tomorrow, this nowness
may bloom, blossom, or blow away.
Blow here, there, or finally land
in field, forest or mound of sand
pouring softly from my tilted hand.
My hand is empty, now it's full
and I can sense the hours pull
this space from anonymity
to weave with slow felicity
new lively fabric, strong as wool.
"Strong as wool, oh space between
jewel of nowness, of rich esteem;
gather soft glimpses, let me glean
today's new gift, still unforseen.