Necklace
Did not even notice the cold out on the hill
For the shock of those gems carefully
Strewn upon your velvety bosom
Gently flooding through many millions
To splash quiet laughing upon my
Dazzled retinae, your retinue marshalled
Concocted to baptize me
Gaping up over leafless, frozen treetops.
The thousand histories converge In me, and I adore You in the dance.
The thousand histories converge In me, and I adore You in the dance.
Wood and Fire
There is a fire that feeds upon
A wood that we may see
And still not know
For what it is.
Steady, steady, steady
Flame, broad flickering
That consumes as it
Restores.
Yes but of course
The world is not like
That that that that is not
The way things are.
It’s easy
Define away realities that are
No more than molecules
Suddenly it is obvious
There are no realities that are
Anything more than molecules.
We should have been more wise
Let’s watch the molecules make love.
A wood that we may see
And still not know
For what it is.
Steady, steady, steady
Flame, broad flickering
That consumes as it
Restores.
Yes but of course
The world is not like
That that that that is not
The way things are.
It’s easy
Define away realities that are
No more than molecules
Suddenly it is obvious
There are no realities that are
Anything more than molecules.
We should have been more wise
Let’s watch the molecules make love.
Quiet baby
Strong melody, richest grace
Works itself through the sinews
of the chatter, not deaf to the dumb, struggle Struggle Hard to understand That I won’t understand. It is not to be understood.
The circle slowly creeps around the room. I move closer to those two who Will never hear that hefty little giggle again, never the night cry, never asleep at the breast again, again.
So with the circle and the murmuring we unwind toward that meeting of ourself with self, Seeing myself in repose, poised, As I shake my hand in terse condolences.
Works itself through the sinews
of the chatter, not deaf to the dumb, struggle Struggle Hard to understand That I won’t understand. It is not to be understood.
The circle slowly creeps around the room. I move closer to those two who Will never hear that hefty little giggle again, never the night cry, never asleep at the breast again, again.
So with the circle and the murmuring we unwind toward that meeting of ourself with self, Seeing myself in repose, poised, As I shake my hand in terse condolences.