All that flows within me
Knows the direction of home…
Recognizing itself as visitor,
Passing ferns, and hollows, and stones.
With emerging faith in its currents,
Even when winter is bitter;
Even when water is ice…
Life’s simplicity doth suffice!
As flow pays homage to host,
By residing only for a while…
The brevity of the visit
Seems eternity’s elegant style.
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Tonight I walked on water
Following the trail of the sun
Tonight I walked on water
And the lake and I are one
Tonight I took the glimmering path
That became the hearth to heart
Tonight I lingered long enough
To see it melt to dark
Tonight I took the shadow path
Into the bed of the lake
Tonight I walked the darken path
Thought terrors I knew would awake
Tonight I walkewd the bed of the lake
Following the trail of the moon
Tonight I walked in the path of God
And dreamt of the glistening sun
Tonight I breathe the breath of God
And God and I are one
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The Central Andes with the
Peruvian cordillero
Like all great mountains
Keeps me awake until mornings light
For what is most sacred
Comes down from the mountain tops
And is written on the tablets of our hearts
Around the fires of the night
And so it is, and
So it was with Moses on
Mount Horeb and here
Tonight sleeping at the foot of Machu Picchu
If you too had been here you would know
Why I have sworn a covenant with
The God of
The Mountain
That I shall never grant hospitality to fear
That I shall entertain caution but briefly
And I shall always and forever
Open my hearth to the heart
Of the God of the Mountain
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Being here in forest
You ask me to be tree,
For you.
And you are twig–
Broken, not yet free,
We two.
And I will always remember
Those words
In such sacred moments few.
When I wonder–
Who will be tree for me? For thee if I am gone? For us?
The answer is in the dew.
Covering us all in deep forest,
Baptising all that we are, we are the forest,
And we are more than two.
Forest will be here for you!
Forest is here, now,
For you!
Ah! Couples tree pose.
No more fuss!
Forest is here for us!
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A peculiar perspicuity has been placed…
Where forms by spring soon to be covered,
Now with clarity may be discovered…
Dispensation just for this season and its own particular reason…
For now is granted crystal clarity,
Placed in this in-between-moment,
Of lucidity bequeathed between
True winter and false spring’s unrelenting foment.
For that which we thought to be,
Was only our expectation…
And this season’s perspicacious advisor taught us instead…
The true form of wisdom’s exaltation!
Greet each season in the moment…
Like a stranger upon the path;
With a sense of humble unknowing,
You shall find wisdom’s freedom lasts.
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Outside, the fingers of firelight flicker…
Casting shadow dancers upon the walls within.
And the movement on the walls and in the halls
Fill the house and this dark room
With the light shimmering.
And no place is left untouched
And no place is left untouched
And even if one were found… the untouched places are not spared,
And no place remains unmoved unchanged
And the shadow dancers upon the walls within
And the hands that sway the fingers of firelight outside this dark
Room and no place is left untouched
And the beads of sweat on the brow of the one who strolls the summer shoreline
Are the cresting waves beating in the breast of the poet on stage
Speaking while illuminated by the candle strength of a thousand twinkling stars–
With words formed within the depths of the earth,
Shaking free from restraining clods the dark soul soil…
Leaving dangling in mid-air the roots and shoots of all that I am
And ever shall be, And no place is left untouched
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Secluded in an old forgotten church yard–
Behind tarnished and peeling paint,
A gathering of voices from days now gone…
Proceeding from woodsmen, farmers—saints!
Words of time–their hallowed meaning—
(None reluctant, timid or shy)
On the lips of this deceased crowd,
Warning how quickly the years pass by!
Hear all, now, their pointed stories
Of faith, sorrows, and things that mend–
Such golden threads between the meeting
Of their beginning …and their end.
Between those two days in each one’s life
Though some cares mattered—many did not…
So, let their headstones stress this point,
Concerning life’s mysterious lot:
What we can and do become
Is what gives grace when life is done
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I know not how the dream received its’ cue–
(Or whether the sky was black or blue)
Nor, too, do I know when
(Either by muses’ pencil or pen)
I tumbled into the blinding white–
Seeking quickly to make things right, as
Words soaked up from the sheets
Weaving into the wrinkled pleats, and
Draping in folds of stories untold,
Bequeathed their suffering to be told.
And in the writing it fell to me
To write a thousand wrongs.
And as the hands tongue was loosed,
Tears wedged in the white linen wove
The Watermark of the soul itself.
Now, awake, I set the pages upon the shelf–
Knowing when and if the need arises,
I may come again and help myself.
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Celestial bed
Constellations
Fiery blaze
Passionate gaze
Celestial bed
Star gazes
Trail blazes
Moons phase
Lovers lay
Layer’s of lace
Lover’s language
Moist eyes trace
Celestial bed
Closest embrace
Mistakes erase
Courage face
Peel back the moon
Sacred taste
Human race
We take our place
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