a morning dust.

Rise. thin and quiet
slow, mist:

a million eyes
empty, one hushed deity

tinseling in space
of leaves of grass,

dew shaken, suspends, monotone
the memory on a seashore;

watching a uniform pattern
lapse again, again we see=watch

half dark
half light

a bead on a string
between brows, never expected

to be a curtain. to find anything
in a place half built.


I want to reach
my arms
where suction cups
are not seen
but function like flowers
in a dense(wild)shade
and are content with
reverse bloom.
I want to reach
my arms.

the way out

“I want you to come with me
into eternity” I asked
of the earth,

But that’s someplace you’ll have to go

I heard
the first red-winged blackbird
cough to me and the rest,

Get up!
This is the way


What do you hold in your hands?
if nothing,
it is a surface for whispers
like the clean wind of winter:

solitude colored with ice and air
or a field of view so quiet
it clots the tainted thought
in miniature pristine patters;

open your hands to the sun:
if you hold nothing,
think of the past, the impressions
still creased in your palm,

here the ground has sunken
where life has taken its time.
where rain dwells and inspires,
something pushes through the brown:

living in hopes of the sun
to stand in the warmth of golden rays,
the heat coincides with its insides.
what do you hold in your hands?

the better of time asks who
and the human asks how
but in your palm, your insides,
tinkers the Undefined

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Bordered by the sun,
green grasses flow
Their sea of spikes
seems to know the air
as a long time companion,

they lean like friends;
they grow the same,
they’ve died together
And after all
enjoy sharing roots
many many years
harboring fireflies at night
and being tickled by the rain
But this may be a lie

because life is a dimension
and within our animal house
our eyes glow the same
and stretch in the black
that knows no name
that knows no end
but echoes like diamonds
like tingling feet falling asleep
placed boxy and heavy
until small toes are

when the world stops
shifting in relaxed eyes
we are soil
best for growth,
part of everything,
shadows, feet, home
clay and sand
bowls and cups and grasses
sparkle in dew and
crisp ice in snow
But this may be a lie

who depends on fingers like mine
and paper and water-mill minds
simple pulleys above the well
this may be our world
this may be our mind
this may be mine

of things reflecting

Behind the curtain
light seeps in the dim
and colorful stacks
of things reflecting
over the blank walls
Behind the curtain
it is almost as bright
as the strong sunrise
in whose shadows
the empty day waits
Behind the curtain
feet are placed firmly
columns made of rocks
and water moves slow,
clear enough to drink
Behind the curtain
waiting another year
the pencil moves
on a vacant page,
the hand warm with sun

but in it, never lost

There is nothing wrong, nothing missing
because we have everything we need:
we need nothing, really
only the promise of existence
supports our fledgling souls.

We do not need the wind
to flaunt its sweet whispers
or the sun-sent flowers
to kiss our warming cheeks,
we do not need the soil
to nourish who we are.

We are without violence
we do not strive for peace
no, we go beyond that:
we are an existence,
a part of the structure:

this connection of webs
spider legs and branches
between blossoming life
and this green place we know
The place that we are now
it is not absolute.

But our hearts are mirrors
we are the capillaries in leaves
we are cells eating raw leftovers
we are infinite sky
when we are full circle.

As for now, we rely
on the stilts we walk with.
How are we not humbled
by base necessities?

We live by eyes and ears
we hold things just before
it turns to dust and dirt
below our feet again.

With out God and our crowd
we live on leaves and flesh,
we breathe the breath and drink
the blood flowing through here

Alas! We are alive!
be aware, as you may
stumble upon the stones
that do not move away.

Yet all of this aside
there is one thing I know
one thing that matters more:
all that I am is
what I am now

the best moment is this
the one where I wander
clear and open, with love
but in it, never lost