Drizzle in the wetlands,
not rain but from morning’s
dewey canopy, the aroma
of green steam off the ferns,
joyous caws, mournful bellow
of doves, deep, resonant,
the sound of blowing into bottles,
sun so perfectly fractured into rays
catches ascending dust and insects,
tiny angels on the fly, I am so alive
without any hesitation to declare
indeed there is God.

Chagall 2019

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