I gaze outwards, hoping to eye
the secret source of my amazement...

Such a subtle notion to be keenly aware of
my concentration whispering soft to me
like wonder washing over the clear eyes of a child.

Standing in the midst of a wild garden,
lost in thoughts and knee-high daffodils
rising to the occasion,
pacing the breeze in celebration
of concentric release and liberation.

The tone of my attention flows outwards
drifting in the vortical tumble
of wisping moments and spiral smiles
only a kissing kind of nature could spin
so effortlessly across the dusky horizon’s curving finesse.

Propelled into the Painter’s portrait of stars swept canvas
sweeping over my vision with the image
of the wonder-washed child standing in a garden,
gazing outwards from the picture quietly searching
for the secret source of her amazement…
..and I wonder if she sees me gazing back at her?

Concealed there,
Somewhere, inside your holy body,
beneath the lines of life that lie so shallow
is a soul.
One grain that must be entirely you.
Yet when I look I see but a shell hollow
And lonely.
Let your flesh evaporate away.
Let your mind find that kind of true emptiness.
That spirit,
lost and locked beneath your temple skin,
let it rise and turn your being into gold.

From the lip
of the forest green leaf
I drip
into the infinity of falling

Tumbling down the bright air
to capture a millions suns
in the dazzling rapture of a splash

And all the tiny beads of my becoming
like oceans
in the acres of time

Until evaporation
as vague as night
gathers the dreaming clouds

One day
perhaps a thousand days away
I will collect myself
Into the brief holiness of rain

Just as you go to bed.
when the day is worn and old
and all you want to do is sleep;
take me with you
in the travel of your dreams.

In the late evening
when all the earth falls away
and the world soothes your open flesh
with soft fingers of breath and temperature.
Your open soul is caressed
by the ever unfolding spirits
of love and joy.

Take me with you
In the quiet drift of such places.

There are those who will stand
Surrounded by friends,
Yet claim to be fighting alone.

There are those who sing songs
In a choir as most, but in
Disharmonious tones.

There are those who suspect
That the meaning of Life
Is survival alone, so they won't

See art as the gold
In the mines of the soul.
But this is for those ones that don't.