It could be fortunate:

To struggle alongside
in that twilight field
and, at the impasse,
with a wounded hip.

Tightly holding on for
that blessing in the
balance with a flower
close to the chest.

A herald, or a spark
relinquished in the
dark knowledge of
that tiny tussle.

Now the hugest thing,
incomprehensible yet
nothing possible that
could be more kind.

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