Sometimes, when stillness of the heart is not enough, mind extends to landscape unbounded and floats like a helium balloon in the depth of sky.
It begins with streaks of light, the naming of trees, ponds open like black blossoms, misted lakes, the sea placing its many fingers on the endless revels of gold bays.
The road may be mossy and slippery as old stonesΒ ; rows of summer swallows may rise from random wires. As mountain strider or keeper of forests, let love lead me south to warm nights where stars burn through clouds.
Let the voyage end in tender words, perhaps a clasp or a kiss. Let the faithful ebb and flow of time join the fragments of me in exile from myself.