The splendor of magnitude gripped in a moment,
now is bursting at the seams,
the thread of steady logic unravels as
the sheets of sensation unveil the
silky boundlessness of time,
the paradox of infinite finitude, of finite infinity—

We exhale into the liminality between (un)certainties.
We find our rhythm to the music of experience
and we fall into ourselves, finding home between our ribs,
nestling into the cavity of being, we trip into each other,
fall in embrace, and rise in ecstasy of laughter.

Folding loving into aching,
Tasting euphonic resonance—
We are copper rays of light, exuberant !
flitting between the morning maple leaves,
we dance with the frolicsome tails of grass,
we hum in deep synchrony till the moon reflects our lily cheeks,
we taste the immanent stars and dive into
the phosphene galaxies behind our eyes.

The construct of measured days recedes
and there is only this brimming space to inhale
between certainties of light and dark
and we inhabit it with a bold stomp and a wild laugh.

Peel the then from now
Liberate the here from there
And then fly for breath

Delirium culminates to heat of genesis
As from the nidus of the chaotic moment
Emerges some lonely stalk of limber growth,
A bud...then a break
A break
A break! to bloom
Cerulean dress freckled with ivory
Plume and reach
To welcome light
And fuzz of bees

Dust like stars in the galaxy of this singular space
swirl and dance in the streak of window filtered light
this soupy universe swims with grace
and with effortless poise, reaches across vastness to
bring me into the womb of immediacy
where the red velvet moment is called home
like a mother calling the child in from neighborhood play
when the sun dips down beneath the cottonwood tree.
Ah, the cottonwood tree,
whose tufts would swirl and dance through wind
like summer snow
like a mothers knowing arms welcoming home
the grassy-kneed, mosquito-bit, bright-eyed child

full of play and serious laughter,
art is paradox incarnate in myth
pregnant with the past
birthing pangs of wonder into the wide
world, world make space for this new form,
open arms and kind eyes
let your questions swell with empathy,
cascade your inner mess and let it
bathe in vulnerable light of the honest gaze,
undress undress to the truth
and explore how gravity plays with form,
your form, his form, her form,
all form in space and embodying time

Bent man, still proud,
Dark pants, brown coat,
Firm belt, white socks,
Lopped gait, slow,
Slow,
No cane, yet
Places need going
Even and especially by the
Old.
I stand a pedestrian witness
To his crosswalk constitutional
It matters not to him
that the red sign blinks
With the eyes of onlookers
Who follow the icons
of social construction.
I feel something like pride
For the figure still bent,
Crossing,
But the pride is not mine
So I release it with an exhale
And hope it reaches some kind corner
Of this difficult world.

Stones,
Cobbled in concert
Burnished, to tell of years.
Mosaic streets that are
Subtlety percussive in their variance
Polished pebble instruments
Strummed by shoes and wheels to
Purr, murmur, then roar in resonance