first birds
long before light
steam rises and curls
catching the light from my computer
reflected in the window
they slide through an echo of a face
that no one wears
this love has no opposite
there is nothing on the other side of the looking glass
it is a boundless waltz of reflections without sides
a pirouette of light
in light
a waterfall of color
pouring through rainbows
and these words that are written by your heart
cannot be read
we are love letters
falling into indecipherable lines and squiggles
a music that no one can hear
but everyone can feel
and when all lines have vanished
it is the end of your world
the end of belief in anyone who would have one
the end of all beginnings
and endings
all understanding was merely castles made of sky
all knowing was the illusion of someone living there
but it was all sky
unknowable
unfathomable
without direction
or place
or time
still the story spins itself
a phonograph of snapshots
and unbearably beautiful music
a dance of no one
of everyone
a ballet of love
twirling without a stage
the curtains close
there was never anything happening
a flowing thought dream
a dream of love
dreaming itself
it is your own light
your own beauty
your own love you recognize
If it wasn’t, how could you recognize it
All of life happens by itself
Thought and feeling as naturally beautiful and perfect as the sun rise
No right or wrong way to see it.... you can hate the rain... but know it’s happening all by itself... somehow it makes it seem impersonal...
And somehow beautiful
That it is happening all by itself
Stories of love and anger and deep deep sorrow write themselves
Thought simply happens.... magically writing the story of a girl who feels
Deeply
And yet the sun shines
And rain falls
And how marvelous this obvious aliveness....
Somehow when the story is no longer believed it all becomes impossibly beautiful... it feels like love has saturated the dream
Erasing all lines between joy and sorrow
Seemingly it is love writing our lines...
love singing itself
Through our lips
Our hearts
This love that no one owns
As it is really not a thing
Not bad or good
No right or wrong
Labels are just happening all by themselves
It seems that the knowing feeling that it’s all story
Including this
And that it happens all by itself
This echo land ballet of thought...
Makes it seem more wondrous than I could have ever believed before the shift
It is the beauty and love and wonder that we become
The beauty where we live ♥️
We are this thought dream
Or mind
Without it there is not even nothing
Not even a thing called thought
....you become the story of unconditional love... you are written in as wondrously as the sun
rising...
and waves
crashing....
and babies
crying...
and lovers
loving...
fighting...
weeping....
laughing......
and wind
blowing
through wind
and where do the ripples go
when the moon has plummeted over the mountain's edge
does the water wait for morning?
does stillness wait for movement
and silence for song?
night dances through day
hides in the shadows
punctuates the light
like stars strewn across the darkness
randomly singing the stories of the ancients
in new and wondrous tongues
words are notes
pinpricks of light
in the dark of unknowing
seemingly weaving a song of meaning
and truth
and a singer...
without words not even darkness exists
beyond words is a most marvelous idea
grasping for a knowing
that can never be held
what dances beyond the heart
beyond this song
beyond these words
calling it a most delicious unknowing
makes it a thing
and there are none
it feels like love
but to whom?
no one can say or sing of what cannot be kissed with words
yet we all know of this magic
most fear it
and long for it
but it is not an it
for this unknowing exists only as a known thing
a mental fabrication
words are slippery shadows
without a source
we are words
tumbling through each others echoes
simply dreams of reflections
shimmering on a moonlit pond
poems are plum blossoms falling
wind
and a dusty street
the last bird after sunset
and the growing night
the silence of empty shadows
and the rustling of shallow winds in the dark
the first bird song before dawn
shoes by the side of an empty bed
a teacup on the windowsill
tendrils of steam rising
through the reflection of my face
dew on delicate velvet petals
reflecting the rising sun
memories of tears
and laughing
memories of love
that great emptiness I tried to run away from
and discovered that I was
longing for love
longing...
clouds forming
wind in the treetops
waves of flowing grasses
clouds dissolving
the growing chill of winter's breath
and golden leaves falling
every hello
and goodbye
every kiss
and every kiss missed
poems have empty spaces between the words
between the letters
that allow the lines and squiggles to dance
stretching out into a love song
that will never capture love
ahhhhhhhhh
the fleetingness of life
appearing and disappearing
without time
leaving no wake
or shadow
to twirl on empty beaches
wind
erases all footprints
such immeasurable beauty
the dance of wind
in wind
falling though a photograph of yourself
all edges disappear
there is only the softness
of the beauty
that you are
but can never find
it was only an illusion that there was a you
walking
tip toeing along a timeline
between birth and death
afraid to fall off
terrified to reach the end...
life a series of snapshots
in a book of poems
every page dissolves as soon as it is read
beauty is this impermanence
that death sings
we are dream dancers
as the dream dances us
a ballet of illusions flowing across an imaginary screen of time and place
we are transparent reflections
echoes of silhouettes dissolving into echoes
never lost
never found
there is no hand
no heart
to hold this beauty
this love
that seems to erase my imaginary lines
and writes me into this very song
seaside
broken bits of shells and
sand
blowing
erasing all footsteps
directionless
there is no one to wander
or to be lost
or found
home is a dream of joy and sorrow
where no one leaves
or returns
time is an echo of all the stories you never heard
reverberating in a nautilus shell
spinning day dreams into a fabric of sound
the roar of the ocean calls your name
there is no one to answer
it is your own love
your own beauty
echoing
a soundless repetition
moving your lips
your heart
to sing
lyrical dreams of light and wonder
shimmering reflections of unspeakable beauty
and dreams of dark deep canyons where the sun rarely shines
two are never separate
nor joined
the dream is as real as it seems
golden finch slides through the morning
her shadow slides through my fingers
this song slides through our minds
we are the stories we share
sharing is the beauty
this is the love we live in
we can never see it
we are it
last finches gather at the feeders
trees dance in the swell and ebb of canyon winds
breath of evening
the pause before dark
day into night
night into day
thought spins the dream
into threads of moonlight
weaving a garden
of echoes
can you catch wind with a lasso of thought
there is no you or wind or thought under these words
as soon as I sing
a singer seems to appear
and a someone who listens
a space between us forms
the words disappear
and we dissolve
into wind
dancing
it seems that I arise in the longing to share this, knowing this perspective can never be shared.... knowing there are no others and no one to sing or hear her echo across the great divide... and yet...
we seem to arise in the empty space in-between us...
reflections ...dancing in love as love through love....
this dance of soundless echoes in the vastness of light without light... space without space.. emptiness without emptiness....
we are these stories of deep deep sorrow and overarching joy...
of a little girl who wept at the beauty and awe of being and who believed she had lost it and wept for forty years... and realized one day that love was never hers to give or lose... love had always sung her lines as it erased them....
and calling it love is the dream
as it all is... yet love is the closest of kisses... but it cannot kiss itself....
all words paint a kaleidoscope of colors... and shapes... a moving swirling dream ballet falling through echos of watercolors... this twirling reflection falls through its own pirouette and leaves no wake or shadow....
the letters from seekers who are the belief that there is a self that can be or should be erased reminds me of the pain... yet it grows more distant with each passing year... and I weep that they feel that there is something wrong, that they are wrong and lacking, and that I have something that they do not... I see everyone including this imaginary dancer as most beautifully innocent...
as no one is wearing the clothes of belief... no one lies under this gorgeous nakedness which so many fear... no one chooses their beautiful colors... as there is no one wearing a self... no one has a self... there is only this dream dancing.... this dream of infinite wonder dreaming itself....
shadows of liquid lace flow in the morning sun
floating mirage of light
and dark
and colors....
love is not just one color
or separate colors
not just one note
or separate notes
we are the chorus of all voices
all hearts
all songs
lost and found in infinite echoes
touching in the intervals between notes
between words
where there is no between
or words
or music
or you
or me
or love
the dream crochets me
as I crochet the dream
amazed at my hands and the soft yarn and the hard crochet hook
gliding...
how the fingers apply just the right pressure... and my fingerprints swirl with the breezes in the garden
I fall into flowers
blooming
and the scent of distant rainbows
soaring over the desert
echos of forgotten love songs
stream through the morning
slide through my fingers onto the screen
softly
softly
love sings her silent song
you cannot hear your beauty
gently singing rainbows
wings of morning
dissolve into feathers of light
painting the magic of shine and shadow
colors flowing through this mind stream
softly thought sings
echos of echoes bloom
into a flowing dream scape
of canyons and mountains and the rising sun
wind paints a flowing carpet of flowers
thought paints the wind
and sun
and my morning song
all is reflected light
there is no source
no place from which you came
nor tomorrow to where you will go
no one to walk along these empty beaches
combing the sands for sea songs
words filter out things like waves
and water
and vast vast oceans
from not even nothing
lassos of thought seem to capture things...
you
and me
and we
thought dances to its own melody
there are no notes
there is no music
there is no thing called thought
without thought
and yet
here we are
echoes
dancing
a ballet of light and shadow
reflections of reflections of reflections
arising only in each other's love light
such infinite beauty of this imaginary
touch
...our eyes
and the world
...our hearts
and this love
this constant kiss
of what was never apart
nor can ever be joined
love's beautiful wings
soar through love
this seamless beauty
of sound
and silence
light
and shadow
never separate
never joined
never together
never alone
we are not broken shadows
longing for the light
in the marrow of your heart
there is a seamless love
melting all imaginary division
living and breathing in the spaces in between
where light dances
and love sings
you can hear her song always
but her words cannot be found
it is in the morning streaming through my window
the last cherry blossoms falling
the fist finches gathering at the feeders
the hush before the world begins
and the traffic pouring down the streets
in your very own heartbeat
wings of love soar
she has no time or place
when she is
or when she is not
there are no words for this seamless beauty
this love that has no words
yet is a word...
it arises in the sharing of it
yet it can never be shared
for it cannot be held
love seems to hold you
hold me
...hold all and everything
in her tender embrace
playing laughing weeping
in this dream of infinite wonder dreaming itself
long before light
steam rises and curls
catching the light from my computer
reflected in the window
they slide through an echo of a face
that no one wears
this love has no opposite
there is nothing on the other side of the looking glass
it is a boundless waltz of reflections without sides
a pirouette of light
in light
a waterfall of color
pouring through rainbows
and these words that are written by your heart
cannot be read
we are love letters
falling into indecipherable lines and squiggles
a music that no one can hear
but everyone can feel
and when all lines have vanished
it is the end of your world
the end of belief in anyone who would have one
the end of all beginnings
and endings
all understanding was merely castles made of sky
all knowing was the illusion of someone living there
but it was all sky
unknowable
unfathomable
without direction
or place
or time
still the story spins itself
a phonograph of snapshots
and unbearably beautiful music
a dance of no one
of everyone
a ballet of love
twirling without a stage
the curtains close
there was never anything happening
a flowing thought dream
a dream of love
dreaming itself
it is your own light
your own beauty
your own love you recognize
If it wasn’t, how could you recognize it
All of life happens by itself
Thought and feeling as naturally beautiful and perfect as the sun rise
No right or wrong way to see it.... you can hate the rain... but know it’s happening all by itself... somehow it makes it seem impersonal...
And somehow beautiful
That it is happening all by itself
Stories of love and anger and deep deep sorrow write themselves
Thought simply happens.... magically writing the story of a girl who feels
Deeply
And yet the sun shines
And rain falls
And how marvelous this obvious aliveness....
Somehow when the story is no longer believed it all becomes impossibly beautiful... it feels like love has saturated the dream
Erasing all lines between joy and sorrow
Seemingly it is love writing our lines...
love singing itself
Through our lips
Our hearts
This love that no one owns
As it is really not a thing
Not bad or good
No right or wrong
Labels are just happening all by themselves
It seems that the knowing feeling that it’s all story
Including this
And that it happens all by itself
This echo land ballet of thought...
Makes it seem more wondrous than I could have ever believed before the shift
It is the beauty and love and wonder that we become
The beauty where we live ♥️
We are this thought dream
Or mind
Without it there is not even nothing
Not even a thing called thought
....you become the story of unconditional love... you are written in as wondrously as the sun
rising...
and waves
crashing....
and babies
crying...
and lovers
loving...
fighting...
weeping....
laughing......
and wind
blowing
through wind
and where do the ripples go
when the moon has plummeted over the mountain's edge
does the water wait for morning?
does stillness wait for movement
and silence for song?
night dances through day
hides in the shadows
punctuates the light
like stars strewn across the darkness
randomly singing the stories of the ancients
in new and wondrous tongues
words are notes
pinpricks of light
in the dark of unknowing
seemingly weaving a song of meaning
and truth
and a singer...
without words not even darkness exists
beyond words is a most marvelous idea
grasping for a knowing
that can never be held
what dances beyond the heart
beyond this song
beyond these words
calling it a most delicious unknowing
makes it a thing
and there are none
it feels like love
but to whom?
no one can say or sing of what cannot be kissed with words
yet we all know of this magic
most fear it
and long for it
but it is not an it
for this unknowing exists only as a known thing
a mental fabrication
words are slippery shadows
without a source
we are words
tumbling through each others echoes
simply dreams of reflections
shimmering on a moonlit pond
poems are plum blossoms falling
wind
and a dusty street
the last bird after sunset
and the growing night
the silence of empty shadows
and the rustling of shallow winds in the dark
the first bird song before dawn
shoes by the side of an empty bed
a teacup on the windowsill
tendrils of steam rising
through the reflection of my face
dew on delicate velvet petals
reflecting the rising sun
memories of tears
and laughing
memories of love
that great emptiness I tried to run away from
and discovered that I was
longing for love
longing...
clouds forming
wind in the treetops
waves of flowing grasses
clouds dissolving
the growing chill of winter's breath
and golden leaves falling
every hello
and goodbye
every kiss
and every kiss missed
poems have empty spaces between the words
between the letters
that allow the lines and squiggles to dance
stretching out into a love song
that will never capture love
ahhhhhhhhh
the fleetingness of life
appearing and disappearing
without time
leaving no wake
or shadow
to twirl on empty beaches
wind
erases all footprints
such immeasurable beauty
the dance of wind
in wind
falling though a photograph of yourself
all edges disappear
there is only the softness
of the beauty
that you are
but can never find
it was only an illusion that there was a you
walking
tip toeing along a timeline
between birth and death
afraid to fall off
terrified to reach the end...
life a series of snapshots
in a book of poems
every page dissolves as soon as it is read
beauty is this impermanence
that death sings
we are dream dancers
as the dream dances us
a ballet of illusions flowing across an imaginary screen of time and place
we are transparent reflections
echoes of silhouettes dissolving into echoes
never lost
never found
there is no hand
no heart
to hold this beauty
this love
that seems to erase my imaginary lines
and writes me into this very song
seaside
broken bits of shells and
sand
blowing
erasing all footsteps
directionless
there is no one to wander
or to be lost
or found
home is a dream of joy and sorrow
where no one leaves
or returns
time is an echo of all the stories you never heard
reverberating in a nautilus shell
spinning day dreams into a fabric of sound
the roar of the ocean calls your name
there is no one to answer
it is your own love
your own beauty
echoing
a soundless repetition
moving your lips
your heart
to sing
lyrical dreams of light and wonder
shimmering reflections of unspeakable beauty
and dreams of dark deep canyons where the sun rarely shines
two are never separate
nor joined
the dream is as real as it seems
golden finch slides through the morning
her shadow slides through my fingers
this song slides through our minds
we are the stories we share
sharing is the beauty
this is the love we live in
we can never see it
we are it
last finches gather at the feeders
trees dance in the swell and ebb of canyon winds
breath of evening
the pause before dark
day into night
night into day
thought spins the dream
into threads of moonlight
weaving a garden
of echoes
can you catch wind with a lasso of thought
there is no you or wind or thought under these words
as soon as I sing
a singer seems to appear
and a someone who listens
a space between us forms
the words disappear
and we dissolve
into wind
dancing
it seems that I arise in the longing to share this, knowing this perspective can never be shared.... knowing there are no others and no one to sing or hear her echo across the great divide... and yet...
we seem to arise in the empty space in-between us...
reflections ...dancing in love as love through love....
this dance of soundless echoes in the vastness of light without light... space without space.. emptiness without emptiness....
we are these stories of deep deep sorrow and overarching joy...
of a little girl who wept at the beauty and awe of being and who believed she had lost it and wept for forty years... and realized one day that love was never hers to give or lose... love had always sung her lines as it erased them....
and calling it love is the dream
as it all is... yet love is the closest of kisses... but it cannot kiss itself....
all words paint a kaleidoscope of colors... and shapes... a moving swirling dream ballet falling through echos of watercolors... this twirling reflection falls through its own pirouette and leaves no wake or shadow....
the letters from seekers who are the belief that there is a self that can be or should be erased reminds me of the pain... yet it grows more distant with each passing year... and I weep that they feel that there is something wrong, that they are wrong and lacking, and that I have something that they do not... I see everyone including this imaginary dancer as most beautifully innocent...
as no one is wearing the clothes of belief... no one lies under this gorgeous nakedness which so many fear... no one chooses their beautiful colors... as there is no one wearing a self... no one has a self... there is only this dream dancing.... this dream of infinite wonder dreaming itself....
shadows of liquid lace flow in the morning sun
floating mirage of light
and dark
and colors....
love is not just one color
or separate colors
not just one note
or separate notes
we are the chorus of all voices
all hearts
all songs
lost and found in infinite echoes
touching in the intervals between notes
between words
where there is no between
or words
or music
or you
or me
or love
the dream crochets me
as I crochet the dream
amazed at my hands and the soft yarn and the hard crochet hook
gliding...
how the fingers apply just the right pressure... and my fingerprints swirl with the breezes in the garden
I fall into flowers
blooming
and the scent of distant rainbows
soaring over the desert
echos of forgotten love songs
stream through the morning
slide through my fingers onto the screen
softly
softly
love sings her silent song
you cannot hear your beauty
gently singing rainbows
wings of morning
dissolve into feathers of light
painting the magic of shine and shadow
colors flowing through this mind stream
softly thought sings
echos of echoes bloom
into a flowing dream scape
of canyons and mountains and the rising sun
wind paints a flowing carpet of flowers
thought paints the wind
and sun
and my morning song
all is reflected light
there is no source
no place from which you came
nor tomorrow to where you will go
no one to walk along these empty beaches
combing the sands for sea songs
words filter out things like waves
and water
and vast vast oceans
from not even nothing
lassos of thought seem to capture things...
you
and me
and we
thought dances to its own melody
there are no notes
there is no music
there is no thing called thought
without thought
and yet
here we are
echoes
dancing
a ballet of light and shadow
reflections of reflections of reflections
arising only in each other's love light
such infinite beauty of this imaginary
touch
...our eyes
and the world
...our hearts
and this love
this constant kiss
of what was never apart
nor can ever be joined
love's beautiful wings
soar through love
this seamless beauty
of sound
and silence
light
and shadow
never separate
never joined
never together
never alone
we are not broken shadows
longing for the light
in the marrow of your heart
there is a seamless love
melting all imaginary division
living and breathing in the spaces in between
where light dances
and love sings
you can hear her song always
but her words cannot be found
it is in the morning streaming through my window
the last cherry blossoms falling
the fist finches gathering at the feeders
the hush before the world begins
and the traffic pouring down the streets
in your very own heartbeat
wings of love soar
she has no time or place
when she is
or when she is not
there are no words for this seamless beauty
this love that has no words
yet is a word...
it arises in the sharing of it
yet it can never be shared
for it cannot be held
love seems to hold you
hold me
...hold all and everything
in her tender embrace
playing laughing weeping
in this dream of infinite wonder dreaming itself
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