I am comfortably a lover of poetry, not a poet. These brief lines come from a tentative place in me that longs to expand.
Morning Mountains
The mountains hold an emptiness, and the morning.
I look. I cannot capture it.
I surrender and
fall into it.
I was already
there.
-*-
Gift
Present moment brims -
wonder splays, blossoms adorn
laden tree branches,
unfold toward sunlight,
incense mystery I
gratefully receive.
-*-
Lexington Road, April 29th
man twirls ninja bow-staff in secret
dances under deep green canopy's quiet
on expansive seminary grounds
-*-
Tilt
What is it?
Filtered light through membrane
walls traced with thin veins.
Familiar...foreign.
Spinning spinning spinning
Large eyes mirror mine -
Butterfly wings -
Deep water -
spin-light
breath-spin,
tilt into space-time
I cannot yet penetrate
the edge of knowing.
-*-
Soft
Mess of lavender
Perfumes the clear morning light
That wakens my heart.
-*-
