The eyes reach out,
the ayes reach in,
through the empty spaces
between the blazing leaves
of enlightened trees.
The rising sun enters
the womb of the heart,
a glade through which
the light passes through
each morning.
The road, the gate,
the hands of fate
ungrasped by the mind
that cups them, still empty
after all these years.
12/8/2022
A flutter of egrets,
With the white wings of angels,
Fills the arms of a palm,
Waiting without intent
For the moment of their arrival.
An unpredicated sharing of leaves and feathers,
Swaying in the arched arrays of the tree,
Touching and caressing like true lovers,
In the cool morning air.
A momentary mingling
Of color and form in motion,
A beautiful, living, raiment
From which the heart
Rejoices.
December 6, 2013
russellrosandershortstoriesandpoetry 