I remember the first time that rhythm
caught me.
It didn't exactly hit me in the head.
It was nothing nearly so violent as
that.
It kind of grabbed me under the arm
and yanked me a quarter-turn around.
If you want to pick nits,
It was an illegal block above the
waist.
Today, again, that same rhythm caught
me.
It didn't exactly pull me to the
ground.
After all, this isn't the first time
around.
It kind of got in real close, face to
face,
Until I let it take me by the hand
and lead me right back into the other
moment.
If you want to pick nits,
It didn't leave room for the Holy
Spirit.
I wonder when the rhythm will catch me
again.
I wonder how gentle it will be next
time.
Will it remind me of the winter, the
couch, the friends,
Or the tragedies of the spring that
followed behind?
Will it come with a caress or a kick?
All I know is that the rhythm is
finished,
and it left me at least a little bit
tired–
Perhaps not of it...
If you want to pick nits.
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