This night a wildish symphony
bold crickets' rubs and frogs.
Some I misname or not name at all
and some I cannot hear.
Air decadent, moist, sweet delicate warm
permeates me..... incessantly.

What breathing, changing boundary holds and defines me?
None Now

I am beckoned and welcomed by All
so
Come Morning I shall dig.
I will kneel in hungry gratitude
for opening of Earth
Plant myself deep as I can
while tending Iris, Lily, Rose.
I am here now !

until all freezes no color will grow
no blooms no creatures here flying
Then what does it matter I'd just as soon Spirit
is welcome to sweep me away.

But I've gone too far now.
Come back to this moment
with sun warming morning
when
**I  Shall   with  Deep  Reverence   Dig.

There is no poem.
There is only me, breathing.
Inspiration flows.

I braid my hair
hiding wits ends.
You tuck your shirt
as if we like
keeping it all within.

on this morning of clinging fog
again we choose doing over being,
the weight of our agendas
de-pressing heart and fire

*you left before I looked in your eyes.

I said , "Let's play...soon."
He looked at me .

I said, "I don't know how I want to play
and what is play, anyway ?"

He went straight to open Webster.
"Too many definitions !"
"Read them !"
"Not appropriate to our conversation."
"Appropriate to me!"

So to please, he read to me.

I jumped in his lap ,
got in his dear face
that very moment
and we laughed at nothing.
We laughed at what is real.
**I know what play is.

All you want to do is Play !

But, Mom, kids are experts at Play !

Decades later, I beg my child :
Play for me.

Decades later, I beg myself :
Just Play.