I was never here.
You never saw me.
Mums the word.

If we were in one of those old British shows
I would lay my finger next to my nose.

With a brief tap
You’d know that
I was incognito.

Taste the lily pond
The eye holds volumes of tears
Strange looking mixture

The swallows fly out to catch the little eddies of spring;

I close my eyes to the sun as the clouds part above
And let the warmth gloriously take me.
Days, weeks, months, my balcony of interaction;
Lone people occasion to pass by, my chance to greet
High above the dog walkers, trippers to the community bin.

What is isolation if you allow your soul to fly out with the swallows?

The earth sighs, we breathe in
A common breath.
Breathe, exhale. Breath in,
Exhaled.

Humanity sighs, we fear
A common breath.
Vapor floats, spreads out,
Breathed.

We hold our common breath -

the truth is a modest little flower

- be not content with one flower of truth
- had one been sufficient there would have been no more

gather each with all earnest effort
gather, ever seek for more

until every nook and cranny overflows
within your strong mind’s vessels

My skin drum beats the message
Deep from within my chest sending
Out the rhythmed vibrations
Hopefully, the sound will pound
Upon your own heart

Sweets of the flower
Opening, full-throated
Beckoning the welcomed bee.

Gifts are exchanged.

“Come or go,” she says,
“You remain free.
As long as you return to me.”

Therefore, he does.

Busy hours buzz,
The gatherings of love
Under the warmth of the sun.

Heat fades into cooler climes.

As always, winter comes.
There is 'a comfort' in that.
All must fly -

Bees, birds, time. . .

We live; we die.
Like a flowered vine clinging
We have offered ourselves up.

It is for the greater good, after all.