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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Plane Ride

The invisible hands of the sky
pick up an immense burden
in the plane I ride in.
It seems true
that the biggest things
are invisible,
quiet,
with no proclamation
telling what they are.
The unbreakable bond
of an atom.
The enduring cosmos.
Love so huge
it leaves its breath, indelible
on the wall of time,
making us cry out
at the breath it forced in us
from care and passion.

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