Quiet Song
In the hush of summer
twilight the trees give
off a sense of listening,
the dust of August in
their leaves. The sky
stretches tight, a man-
dorla of cloud around
the sun, the air soft as
quills on my skin. Dusk
begins to undress, and,
wrapped in the presence
of a nude starry heaven,
the nakedness of my
spirit is touched by drops
of purity, that I may
discover the bowl inside:
a high-glazed hyacinth
blue that reaches to my
heart, and there it remains,
a temple for cleansing
that wakens me up to a
serene path of light crystal,
a quiet song of hope.
***
The Scent Of Jasmine
Autumn petals whisper
a smile in the breeze,
softening the bed of my
heart while I ease into
a sweeter grace: my legs
folded in lotus position,
the first pleasure surfacing;
wind stroking me like a
delicate lover, hope and
desire set free. I’ve only
begun to imagine the
fullness of life and, in
the dawn, I breathe in
the sunlight; it warms
my throat a long time,
and a jay finishes its
song before it takes flight.
I want to praise the cool
path the jay makes in the
sky, and my cupped palms,
roused by the gift of water
caressing their lines and
curves, forever young.
I want to touch the cloudy
tissue of heaven, and like
the scent of a jasmine
flower, I never want it to
leave.
***
Sacred Wings
To pray, open your whole
self to the sky, earth, and
sun, the moon. Hear the
one whole voice that is
you; and, all around,
there is more that you
can’t see, can’t know
except in moments that
steadily grow. Listen to
languages that aren’t
always sound but other
circles of motion. In the
blue sky, in the wind,
our hearts have been
swept clean with sacred
wings. Like the eagle
inside us we’re born,
and we die soon in a
true circle of motion,
rounding out the years
before us, knowing we
must take the utmost
care and kindness in
things that is us.
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