comes sunrise in the trembling mist: the dewdrops on the flattening grass, the sky in streaks of orange-blue, and scents of someplace long ago that shake the mind alive -- the instant, everything: a life is made of moments felt, all stitched together in the mind that sees connections, everywhere, yet feels so disconnected
Too much in her own head, she stops to breathe; Eyes closed against the coming of the fear, A battle pitched, a weapon to unsheathe, Her role: a soldier, general, and seer. Who sees the grandeur of this epic scene? One stopped, one small, one town in time-flow lost; The marvelous, appearing in the mean -- The goods, without the value, or the cost. Eyes open, now, she walks thus further on Past what is hers, and what was never hers, By ages past of lines and colors drawn, Into the silent thought she now prefers, But this is life: vital, yet marginal, And where reliable's remarkable
The world weighs on us heavy, The world will hit us hard; There is no place to hide from grief, No shield, or bodyguard, And I could see it all with her. Perhaps you'll understand: When sympathy, like air, flows out, It's not at our Command
he walked the empty campus morning stillness a stranger both to learning and to fate; his pockets full of stone and missing pieces and ideas he hoped once to elevate. this place was strange to him now, in an instant: he'd lost the thread of what it was to feel before his paradigms became just memories, when he was stronger than what life could deal. the snow was largely missing, melted mostly, the day was winding up, and slowing down; a stranger first to learning, then to growing, who never brought himself to stick around
The water dances here below the old abandoned mill; I know I've got a task to do, but I don't think I will. It isn't that I do not care, or that I'm big on shirking: It's just that that there's a presence here that rejects overworking
we stood there by the little brook both frozen in our sudden tracks; we held trite truth within our hands with late wind there upon our backs we felt hurt winter calling home the hard relief we longed to feel; we stood beside the silent ice and that, at least, was real
when day becomes night we turn into the colored smoke that warms the memory of love
a few breaths another season this wonder in the eyes showing that magic is still possible
YOU were the ground:
so happy, shoveling the sand;
so joyful, rolling in the grass --
soft and squishy, bare feet running,
the smell of flowers filling your nose, and
the earth itself filling your heart --
you were that ground.
YOU were the water:
lying on your back, arms spread wide,
held by the liquid embrace that cushioned you,
sound of the ocean breathing, as
the sun set on what was your tension --
ripples spreading from a black pond hidden
from the eyes of all but few --
you were that water.
YOU were the fire:
city lights ablaze, like the lights in your eyes --
hot the feeling, crowds in a frenzy,
inhaling excitement, exhaling the feeling
of bodies alive with the flames of desire,
two later, alone, in a tangle of burning,
and more, in the words you pour out in volcanoes --
you are that fire.
NOW become the wind:
let got of the past, and your ease, and your passion,
for opposites live in your very existence,
they're all of them you
yet they're none of them all --
there's more the moments that have been, there's those
you have yet to feel, like this one, like this one --
now become the sky, and the clouds, and the wind.
