~

*a secret-possessor, a poetess of riddles,

informs, but my senses don't conform,

claiming that in my possess,

a gift ensconced, a soulfulness harbored,

purportedly outing me as "one gifted soul"

~

this "gift" of cobbled together phrases, on the back of
paper napkins,

words impermanent, undeserving of the firmamen
of cottoned cloth,

they shall not be mourned, when forever lost,

for like my soul, but a fleeting glimpsed visitor,

a 100 year comet, naturally self-destructing,

intended to be witnessed but once in a lifetime

~

wincing at this dear praise, yet it serves me well,

as the sweetest reminder, that we shall all yet meet,

all on that day, all in that place,

from where souls are gifted and returned,

however shopworn

or even disgraced

~

all welcomed upon our inevitable return, no proof of purchase needed,

where, living forever, in such good company is a

certain surety,

knowing this, that we are all certainly possessed with this relief,

easy then, in agreement, every each, born in fluid from the belly of belief,

each of us

"a gifted soul"