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Ports of Origin

Imagine
each morning
when we wake up
we remember where we came from.

This is never exactly the same place
in our therapeutic imagination
for the same reasons
we can never actually go home again
to that original warm wet womb
from where we first emerged.

One morning
I come from,
and hope to return to,
water.

The next morning
perhaps fire
or Eastern sunrise horizons,
or sacred, yet darkly unformed, hope,
dim memories of Paradise,
integrity,
great great grandparents
so many, like stars
gleaming bright
and fading with first dawn’s light.

Imagine
each night
we drift through our journey so far,
with gratitude for this day’s point of origin
and wonder about our epic history
sharing Earth’s daily orbit rebirthing story,
awed response to where we may start from
again to-gathering
all our tomorrows.

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