The Universe Whirs

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The fan spins idly in the window.
A truck grinds along the nearby highway.
A drum beats somewhere in the pueblo.
The high pitched voice of a priest in recitation
wafts from somewhere beyond the trees.
A breeze stirs a response from the leaves.
Romeo barks at a bird or an iguana on the roof
and then quiets.
The universe whirs from the heart of my being
and the stars that surround us.
Time flows through the waft and weave of everything
like senseless chatter,
forgotten as soon as it is spoken,
unable to hold it’s place.

9/30/17

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Four Haiku

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Clouds blanket the mountains and the valley to the sea.                 When the sun shines again, will you be there?

In the moment there is no breeze.
Nothing to flutter the leaves of the trees.

Lifting my eyes from the illuminated window to the cyber-universe,
How delicious the sound of falling rain.

The sun has touched the surface of the sea.
There is no need for words now.

9/23/17

Child Of The Dawn

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And so the mottled child forlorn

wanders in from his journey home,

out of the soothing patter

of a warm rain

that fell across last night unrestrained.

Where have you been?

I ask him standing

in that light streaking

from between clouds and moments now breaking.

All the while silent answers flow

unhindered from his sodden features.

From somewhere deep inside the identity

of bone and stone,

being love and washing fear,

out of time’s dark narrow funnel.

From a place preceding sight,

through which all things,

both suffered and enjoyed,

must pass, coming and going,

all matter, dreams and light,

cosmic dust, water and smoke.

 

6/30/17

 

Spring Fires

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The clouds in the east

are only a false promise of rain today,

but the jasmine has begun to bloom outside my door,

and above, the intense pale green

of emerging leaves graces the tree.

There is a hint of grass smoke

from the spring fires burning in the hills,

and an unseen wren is singing a sweet song,

“Where is love, where is love – surely not far away”,

waiting for the drought to end.

 

5/19/17

Small Storm

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A small storm rages in the dead of night

Not tearing at the limbs of trees in the darkness

Not raging in the swirling sky above

But within these compound walls

Of stone and skin

In a windowless room

Unseen Un-named uncategorized

An unknown tumult

In a wordless dream

In an unbound stream

I wrap my spindly arms about these howling winds

And bow deep into the spiral eye to see

The quiet peace The invisible heart

In the loving protection of your outstretched fingers

In your open hand

Before the sun has risen.

 

5/28/17