Bare feet on the tile floor — the sensation of cold traveling instantly from soles and toes through limbs and on through the top of the head — or was it something I thought, or lost, or said?
This morning’s nigh-full setting moon, illuminating great towering clouds. To be illuminated just so, and blessed to never know.
And after even the heaviest of rains, the air remains. Need I look further for a miracle?
February 8, 2020
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces
Tags: Bare Feet, Diaries, Journals, Mind and Body, Miracles, Poems, Poetry, Rain, Walking
William Michaelian 