Like a pine tree
Standing firm and free
On a windy mountain top
For all to see
Such is the feel of wealth

Like a sunrise
Filling mountain skies
Causing doubts to calmly drop
And hopes to rise
Such is the feel of wealth

Like a good friend
On whom you depend
Helping untamed fears to stop
Until you mend
Such is the feel of wealth

Deep in my soul
     I felt weak and weary
And knew that my end
     Hung silently near me
But on the wind
     And through the trees
A sound fluttered down
     A nearby breeze
It danced along
     A deviant path
Bending and phasing
     In a joy filled wrath
My hollow bones
     So light and enchanted
By that colorful tone
     Not evil nor slanted
Pushed ever onward
     And looked out below
The source of this song
     I was thirsty to know...

I came upon a white city
     Shining in the distance
If it weren’t for the music
     I would have missed it
Eagles soared above
     From mountaintop trees
They flew with grace
     Together on a breeze
I felt myself hopeful
     And drawn to their course
To that faraway city
     Far off to the north
With haste I dashed
     Down rocky plateaus
For I felt at home
     From my head to my toes
Like a child I raced
     As the sun finally set
Until I was caught
     By a rope-wound net!

It was forever as if
     I floated across those plains
My captors carried me
     With grace so strange
As the music got nearer
     Eagles sang with flutes
Piecing together a melody
     Known by trees and their roots...

I was placed in company
     Of a magnificent king
His crown was white
     And his robe, and his ring
He bid me welcome
     To live among his people
In his white city of courtyards
     Towers and steeples
As I opened my mouth
     And my heart to say yes
He stopped me before that
     With one lone request
I must dwell in this realm
     Until the end of my days
For in hiding, he said,
     We all must remain
Hidden from the darkness
     That dwells beyond the mountains
Hidden among fairies,
     Family, and fountains...

So there I dwelt
     Until the end of my life
In that shinning white city
     With my children and wife
I’ll never forget
     That most fortunate day
That by music and eagle
     I was once led astray...

You neatly told me
That your muse is more a student
Of mountain writing
Than of poems; the way they go in
And out, all natural and deserted.

How otherwise can one know
The heart of the matter than
To isolate the heart, at least
For a moment or several, with
What remains of earth and air?

Leave it alone without water.
Send it into the woods with nothing but
A flimsy packet of beef jerky,
No swimwear, and hope
That the sky doesn't pour itself in riot.

So be ready for anything with
The grace to let the self be
Washed, dunked in a lake
Of coffee to emerge what it could
Have been from the beginning.

There are nights,
blue sky coming through the window
the last orange of the sun
no longer aglow
when I seek myself.

She is a daughter.
She is a son.
She is the weird and wary night coming in
                                                              ­        slowly.

softly
like an idly turning spinnerette
she awakes.

There is a morning,
fog traipsing through the mountain
around the trees
and to my door
when I see myself.

i am night-locked
this sudden darkness makes me wonder
if the sun is blocked
or is it some sort of punishment
whatever it is
i don't mind
some people forget
the sun blinds
i prefer
the cool night
and to hang out
with the fireflies
mountains whisper
to me a secret bliss
and my cheeks
the moonlight likes to kiss
dewdrops
and dusky roses
night-lock
is awfully lovely
when you have
firefly friends
and flowers
in your hair
and perfume
on the wind.

Sycophants.
That Great Tree burns all around us.
Can you smell it?
Can you sense the presence?
That Great Old One, that Great Old Tree burns.
Beckons.
It's smoke rises up and crosses the sky 4-fold.
No bombs may stop it.
A fate lined delusion, to which, even the children succumb.

On the ground and among the spit and slander is the shelter of wisdom.

This must be so.
>>>The waves build and grow on one another.

NO MOUNTAIN BEFORE US CAN STOP OUR FLOOD.

Skins who claim to see are blind to themselves.
>>>The waves build and grow on those nearby.

NO MOUNTAIN BEFORE US CAN STOP OUR FLOOD.

Formless connected masses gather and execute their souls.
>>>The waves flood and spread their swirls.

NO MOUNTAIN BEFORE US CAN STOP OUR FLOOD.

On lookers below the pyramid find mercy in their death.
>>>>The waves spare nothing and the wall burns inside.

NO MOUNTAIN BEFORE US CAN STOP OUR FLOOD.

The tree smolders and finds union among the people of the AIR.
Few understand these images.
All will come to feel these images.
In beauty none will see it.

NO MOUNTAIN BEFORE US CAN STOP OUR GREAT FLOOD.

The infinite forms of the depths sprout new seeds upon the space where we may walk.
The path before us is along a prime meridian that none can follow.
The eternal eternal from whence we came.
And to which we will go.

This, all will know.