If, as they say, the cells
of the body are replaced every seven
years, then I'm a new being
since my sons were newborn.
I have died and been reborn
neither better nor worse yet remembering
feeding them while dancing to Moment's
Notice, as they attended with new minds.

Having died, as such, I find I do not mind
quiet living with the purpose of a cell
unbound by minutes or moments
as men know them. There are seven
deadly sins, seven ways of remembering,
seven stages in which to have been or continue being.
None of them recur after one's reborn
and none are known to us from before we're born.

Of the two young people to whom I was born,
one has lately died. I do not so much mind.
Although I do not, he believed he'd be reborn
and who can say what happened to his soul or cells?
Perhaps in Christ we continue being,
or with some other deity, as the churches claim monotonously,
      momentously,
demonically and deviously. It seems about as relevant that
      seven
rhymes with heaven and rhyming's a mnemonic device (for
      remembering).

But remembering
what? To go to the daily discipline to which you were born?
I fought seven forest fires, took seven
lovers, my sons are seven, and my mind
is the sole owner and subsidiary of these memories and
      moments.
Unless I am to be reborn
they disappear with me. Masefield's poem continues to be
the most honest and chilling assessment of our souls' and cells'

disbursement. I can imagine stem cell
research may lead to a cure for dementia, loss of memory
about who you are and where you've been.
If one's not been born
this doesn't matter. But if you're being reborn,
in the sense of "he not busy being born is busy being reborn"
      (Dylan),
then it is best and most correct to consider your last moment
of a continuum with moments endless and entirely in your
      mind.

The mind is made of cells and moments, seven billion of them.
Remember to be born and reborn, early and often.

momentary tangibility, momentously touchable.
voluptuous experience, an explosion of love
or *****.
no rhyme nor reason.
stuck behind glass doors,eternally hoping for
more more more.
locked in and passed around.
visible from hot air balloons, indecipherable under microscopes.
morse code, even to myself.
im on this red painted shelf.
of course, red, but still unread.

Upon a sweet zephyr
     whirled a scent,
something so familiar
   midst that breeze,
'twas like warm apple pie
   sitting amid a windowsill
wafting delectable
   reminiscence of long ago,
children's laughter
   full of caramel & pepper,
petunias, summer rain
      and hot cayenne spice
all delightfully blissed
    in a blast of fragrant air's
momentously fresh nostalgia

The fire sparkled a watery light
As the moon soothed time into oblivion
And a faint recollection of yesterday lay dizzy at their feet

Her afterthought was inconclusive
As to whether the cup in her hand
Had elicited an exuberance
Sufficiently encouraging to make her face the dawn

On their playground of broken bottles and burned out branches
The chords of melancholia clung heavy to the night

The sweet sounds of memories they had relived
And strung together into an utterly unruly melody,
Seemed to push the sunrise back
Under the horizon lying looming out of reach

Smoke rising up from the last of their dampened pine branches
Laid a murky gloom over the glaring view of an inescapable morn

The clouds rolling in ****** them back into darkness
Hiding an unwanted future from sight
Allowing an indulging as sweet as the drink
That still lingered on the lips that spoke of never wanting to go back

The rain-burst covered their world with a wafer-thin film of glistening protection
Every thunder bolt momentously holding off dawn

But the fire that had fuelled their careless lazy limbo
Hissed under the abundantly extinguishing streams coming down
The spark that had lasted them all through the night
Melted into a shocking sense of reality
Quenching her parched desire
To dance in the rain
And run towards the sunrise with arms wide open

Building steadily momentously Epic
Lighting my stem electric transmission
Mind
Body
Spirit
atoned
Vibrating to a distant realm
My eyes like fire as sensation rises
I am that I am
A soul freed from night

A gossamer pyramid of dark tainted leaves
suspended into boiling baptismal water,
releases in a cathartic outburst-
golden whirls of deep, resonant colour;
Transformation begins from within.

Water chooses stubbornly to adhere to its form,
but the vigorous leaves retaliate and
gloriously rise upwards in merrymaking,
chorusing in unity as they are
momentously
drowned out with a splash of cold milk. In the
heated silence of a compacted moment,
a cup of tea is pushed forward into her cold palms.

she sips-
pursed honey stung lips
part with a curious subtlety as
Robust reverberations:
notes of strong black tea, tickle
dormant spheres of her tongue, waking them up
to celebrate the song of new life.

My exhaustion is picky;
It says, "No, I don't want to do this anymore".
Neither there are reasons nor none why it causes me to be sad  momentously, it doesn't even matter.
Just as long as it is buried down my chest until I feel a pang of ache,
I'm sure, tears will be the backwash behind all of these.

I close my eyes to a world of light
To enter a land that gives me sight
Into the deep crevices of this old mount
No obscure thing beyond true count
Before every view that emerged in the mind
I ached with all my strength to find
That one object my heart doth seek
As lost as I beyond this silent peak
Into the distance your footprints spread
"She wants to be found," the old man said
Following each step ere I learned to walk
Tripping down the sandy turf and rock
There stood you beside the foamy reef
Your eyes sank far into your grief
Tears fell crashing with a reason
Yet I felt the restraint of the season
What was to be done as we stood still
Between the sea and a wind blown chill?
Did I know what would take hold
When I at last dared to break the cold?
Hesitating, reaching, my being drew yours near
In that moment I knew no more fear
The memory of long past was the truth of the now
For I had not changed, I know not how
Embracing your frame as though I had never
And again my lips tasted the salt of that river
So long since I had traversed these lands
Yet not forgotten as I clasped your hands
Bringing them to meet my feeling
Momentously washing your fingers with healing
I covered each one with a freeing balm
Until the last exquisite one, then calm

The moment came quite suddenly,
Belied by how momentously,
I let your soul inhabit me,
When I first knew that you got me.

No warning what would come to be,
It came so unexpectedly,
I let you give yourself to me,
Somehow I knew that you got me.

We met and I had certainty,
But how is still a mystery,
That I would let you close to me,
I knew someday that you’d get me.

I gave you my love instantly,
No fear you’d turn your back on me,
I let you change eternity,
Because I knew that you got me.

We’re an improbability,
We speak together inwardly,
Communicating silently,
That I got you and you got me.

Would you mind at
all that much to live
with me, he asked her
All hope and cool
while walking their
city river running right
on the square where
her father had his shop
First spring light, the sun
tries a green blushing
Could it be that she
completely missaw what
embraced a home?
A silence so sensefully
inclusive, momentously
marked by this choice
so serious and whole hearted
she could not say anything
but yes. Justified her soul
that moment, that square
That made her lose sight
of her father's protection
in view of herself never
capable to choose
boundaries nor homes.

it has been the slowest tide in millennia
the moon went traveling to a distant star
leaving the ocean in such a state
lovers are lost
wolves are incensed
the estrus is in peril
meanwhile
the tide drags itself out
foam curling like lazy toes under bed covers
rising against gravity
disappearing momentously
up
into a serpentine mountain of water
reaching
for its fading mate
the moon

the wave holds time
inside the precipice of its crash
a breathless, silent
pause

the moon looks back, gently
seeing only a warm farewell