Falling stars like speckled gold, Juniper fields, memories of old, The bees have gone, or so I've been told Would you have known? Where you were, the path grows cold Not one you've wrote, those empty notes, Hardly a modern myth, To me, this dream you sold
worlds are collapsing, rising; dictators exhale, entangle the veins of the world some ideas preserve salty streets like janitors of the dark summer keeps the score of perfumed nights I indulge in the womb of heat wounds are retreating in sequestered spaces - the seeds of the future. there is a chill in the air, dread strikes near and far light flows like the dance stuck in my bones everywhere the pulse of time, dreaming
It was almost a Now Moon the other evening, but the crescent was rocked a bit back to south. Does it matter if almost now is a little in the past or a little in the future? I find that it doesn’t matter, except that the too-many sorrows of the decades cannot be forgotten. But they are only background – separate from now. They don’t color or influence now, except as instructions, to be followed or not, for present behavior. Although the sorrows are not now, sometimes they feel like always. The answer to the almost now question is; “Always”. That beautiful Now Moon orange crescent is “Always”.