Somewhere

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Balancing, not so delicately,

on the heads of seven pins

I wake in the middle of the night

dazed by the hurrying of the sun and the moon through the sky.

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Somewhere there is an open field

where the seeds of tall grasses live out their days

in dialogue with dew and stars,

Cicada legs thrumming the air

a stillness held in their cadence,

Where fire flies lace the leaves of trees in encircling forests

inscribing their delicate electrical tracings of desire,

a lit calligraphy of … hello, come see me

I am aflame with light

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Somewhere there is an open field within me

amidst the deep woods of words 

the impregnable tall trees of thought

a vast silence of living

wrapt entirely in wonder

 

Emerging

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All around

  the long bones of the trees

raise small green prayer flags

from their roots

of  winter solace

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Signals humming in the first spring wind

“There are so many lost in their own momentum”

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There is an urgency

as the intrepid green shoots

attend to the living word

“With”

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As everything cycles new in the next few months, my activities surround the season. I’ll be lending my hands, my arms, my back, my muscles, my eyes and my ears where needed.  My softer parts and all my bones go along for the ride. …giddy with enthusiasm.

I’ll also be germinating the next set of audio broadcasts. The seeds have been planted. I am immeasurably grateful to everyone who listened and lent their own thoughts … such beauty….you have my heart….

I’m learning trust in so many ways

opening like a flower

in a field of wild light

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Artist: Paul Klee

Three

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Doubt and Belief silently argue

as they sit upon a box

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Trust joins them

adding 3 wheels to the box

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giving mobility

to the debate

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everyone’s muscles still tense

when they pass Hope or Violence

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but they are now meandering

around the countryside

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looking for the exact spot

where their grief is buried

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photo credit: Unknown

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Enigma

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Rooted in the Greek word for “riddle”

I steady myself

in the middle of the stream

So much rain

I wish I’d worn back straps on my flip flops

standing in the strong current

but

 I’ll not wander in the side eddies

where the slickest algae

coats the surface of the stones

still idling there

passing time as if singular

feigning reflection

 an intoxicated accumulation

of over fertilized organic matter

 girdling themselves

as if they could hold on to the ground

~

My days have been emptying

full of the feeling that I’m living

in two separate realities

  More than a waiting game

too much hard evidence

A pack that needs to be cleaned out

and made into a traveling case of essentials

fit for lifting off and moving

in even faster flowing water.

~

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photo credit: Russell Tomlin Flickr

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After the fire

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Imagining sparks from earth’s stones

I envisioned the extension

of light

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Coalescing with heat

I opened like a flower

once again

to the erogenous

seduction of words

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After the fire

the waiting

seeds

are poised

as I gaze into the unknown

placing my trust

in the river

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nothing and everything

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nothing and everything

arrives unexpected

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listen listen

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and I hear the rising of my own story

surfacing for protection

who am I then?

the sum of my parts

or who I am becoming?

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this aching is an intention

radiating in waves

the energy

a voluntary take over

I can feel it everywhere

my sex, my stomach, my bottom lip

inundated I feel I am sinking

~

drenched in the running colors

I wade to shore

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the more I surrender

the more transparent I’m becoming

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 sentient

I hear

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the earth is weeping