Thin Air

Holidays come and holidays go,
But every day is holy
In this most holy universe
Composed of countless suns
And never-ending darkness.

No clowning capers can delay
Or turn aside the tide
Of absolute mortality
That everywhere exacts its price.

And yet we rise
Like loaves of leavened bread
To greet each opportunity
Presented to us lovingly.

Magicians with a flourish may
Reveal a bold bouquet
Where nothing was before,
And we say there is more
To this than meets the eye.

©2016 Michael Fraley

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