Bird of the Moon
There is a feast going on
that we are invited to …
A wondrous forest birthed
from a single tree
A bird singing at the Center of Things;
A bird with a million feathers
of a million colors,
and a million fragrant songs
each sung in the wordless Language of the Heart.
There is no Waiting for this River:
It has been flowing all your days.
There is no Jumping into this river,
you were born and will leave in this
Lovers Arms.
A single Tree and a Silent Sunset
remain embedded in a place where
they Grow Forever Undaunted
A single prayer emerges from
the Lips of Now …
“Fulfill me, because my life is passing by …
“Take me Home, because there is no other
Place to Go …”
The Smell Of Love
I walk through the café of life.
There are several smells along the way. It is a café of smells. There is no escaping beauty, doom, magnificence, banality and orchids. We are swimmers; sinking is not an option.
The Smell of Love is the most noteworthy. It writhes like a golden serpent, sinking deep into fabrics unseen, riding in Dream Territory, speaking to the sounds that came before words.
It is the smell most of us avoid, yet the fragrance most of us seek. The odor undealt-with, the nameless sound we all recognize like a dog’s ears that rise to the Distant Familiar.
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