Between a Hawk and a Hang-Glider

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On a mountain near Piancavallo,
I met God one afternoon;
after the snow-dusting had faded,
alone except for a hang-glider fluttering
and a distant hawk graceful in the air,
circling the thermals—
a moment of oneness:  enlightened;
anointed.  In those sacrosanct minutes:
a stillness that stretched out forever;
the wind that brought the afternoon rain
cooled my warm spirit
longing to be the lift under the hawk’s wingspan,
past the gravity.

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