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It is a simple thing,
Embracing one another.
A moment of beckoning,
Asking and giving in unison,
No words spoken.
Such a small thing it is,
To clasp more than a hand –
(Hesitation implied, inferred) –
To reach around, and yet to yield,
To feel at once a heartbeat
At breast and spine, and know
You are offering your own
Without agenda. Need
And desire – unspoken, unplanned.
And when the moment passes –
The brief and simple
Intimacy of the everyday –
You step apart, release the touch,
But still the warmth remains.
Nothing has changed, but
What is.  And what has always been
Is deepened, and you know –
What is broken can be fixed.
What is injured can be healed.
The coming of renewal
Will not be hastened.
The lingering pains of
Wounds still healing, will
Be, not-be in their time.
The scars created will
Hold within them the memory
Of a simple thing:
Embracing one another;
Giving and asking;
Holding on and letting go.
That moment together when
Each responded to
The wordless beckoning
Of another’s heart.

For one and all, enough. . .

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