There were days left over;
this fantastic architecture,
days of a planet too young to be seen,
at man’s eyes.
reflects on, with curious eyes path,
feel the last evening’s silent branches breath;
one step back Adam.
Integrate the least,
Atlantean ship’s return, dark outland’s call,
in men’s dreams only, to cold steam rising fall,
on green magic’s mist want,
only to find
tree limb limb
Bank bank dip slipping, tail flipping, pout snout
Soft mud ooze soothing,
hippo sun funning
Soft eyes scanning, flatboat
Once away the house it burns
the fields they say are hay
What the devil knows
so the quiet pre-born stars
share unquestioning looks,
and talk of insane releases.
“I laugh in the open field,
the sun’s house burning over
and down my shoulders.
I’m so sad.”
She smiles, giggles
and as they relax
the calm pouring
of the fire that does not burn.
Having now ascended the timeless moss-encroached stone steps
onto the new plain: earthy, pale, yellow, and grassy –
yet there is no grass;
only a large sun near the horizon, neither setting or rising
sun shining with the pale blue sky fading brightly to black,
whose wind breezes delicate music and ethereal threads.
Could just as well be surging up through fractures
in the ground, but this cool golden land remains solid
in its effortless abandon.
The land stretches away to vanish. Nowhere is it close.
It is under my feet, grazing imagined toes.
Feeling the shade and coolness of the great pines,
I see in all directions as there are no trees.
A few horizontal wisps of white cloud, touched with the sun,
draw their close star into my universe as I converse
with myself and new surroundings,
Alone on my sheet of plain and singing sky.
teach me thy ways,
I stand in the rays,
marveling the path;
The evening set,
your fiery dusk
end the day.
patience exceeding the lost madness,
fighting the reign - angry insanity.
vying for control, a dichotomy.
losing to the end - ancient battles,
the loss of knowledge,
the death of understanding is at hand.
we are glad to see it go,
waving goodbye with red-clotted sticks
and true love.
lifting random hushes of grey green,
gentle pushes and unknown time
of salt sprinkled quiet and solitary
speckled sand; flecked dunes
clumps grass blades,
their yellow curled tips
a small girl;
single tiny impressions
on level reaches home.
and the waves watching,
urchins but children of the sea,
learn their moods and reasons
searching in her eyes.