Sometimes I sit and listen
to the quiet of the night
feel the cool breeze blowing
watch the stars shining bright

Then my imagination
gets caught up in the wind
and takes me on a journey
to a place I've never been

holding on to an eagles wing
while he soars way up high
dropping me off in heaven
far beyond the deep blue sky

Listen'n to the angels sing
as I dance on an unlit moon
voices coming from the clouds
are of those who I once knew

Then my imagination
gets caught up in the wind
and takes me on a journey
to a place I've never been


I hear the angels singing
they sing perfect harmony
I could only imagine
there's no place I'd rather be

Then my imagination
gets caught up in the wind
and takes me on a journey
to a place I've never been
©

Pounding legs
Hammering knees
Numbed toes
Fading strength
Blurred eyes
Dripping hair
I ran

Spring sulked this year,
plants wet and swollen shut,
buds reined in
by the season’s late debut,
all drenched by loss.

But life, spirited away in mourning,
cannot remain shut up.

Fingers of grief, deft as hungry lovers,
pry open.
Wet sheets snap in the drying wind.
Trash cans
plundered by dogs
boom across winter worn grass
ironed by sun, spilling
corks, stained red
with last night’s wine,
alive,
sulfurous.

The sharp rains of sorrow cut
through me into places left long
vacant by tears until I,
worn from wearing masks,
in company of shadows,
refuse to bury coals
to keep the blaze
from burning.

i. Sometimes the sky is purple where the firelight of the Sun meets the vapour of the Earth, and the vast mountains are overlain with crystals of ice and snow, scintillating among the peaks presiding above, and here IS the habitation of dragons, who soar in procession and ride o'er the rolling pure white, whose claws razor & move & rivet the Earth, and her bounty, for formations to roost, whose faces and bodies scale with white crystals, hanging bright and so clear, opened, void of concealment, and their eyes are orbs of lightning, looks of arcing illumination that hang in the sky like branches of a tall tree, and speak words like polished stones that ripple upon a balmy pool, like the flowing sounds of Vespers that Holy Angels play to you Endlessly in ur dreams, in the rhythm of golden oceans, and the melodies of rainbow harps, forever whispering to you during the passage of night and day.

ii. The blind snake gropes along the ground, bleary eyed, conceiving the body as a *** totem, seeking ultimately only to consume his own tail.