you can hear the echos of your heart bleeding
petals of sound
falling into their own caress of
utter
softness
between sound and silence
vibrating in the hollowing moon
tears have no color other than all
colors
bleeding into the dream of rainbows
blooming and
fading
sliding through the color land dream scape of time
and space
the lap of ancient tides
is your blood rushing into the sea
the rise and
fall
of tides
of all the wetness
that will never quench your thirst
nor leave you empty
there is no vessel
that is not water
no thing can contain all this love
love's hands are yours
love's face
is yours
love's heart
is
yours
is mine
is us
and you feel like you have reached the end of your story
all that seeking...
peering into books into words under the letters
in-between the pages
has never led you to the answer
and you are beginning to doubt that there is an answer
you have reached the edge of the known world
there are no more signs
you cannot see anywhere to go
there is no next...
you turn around and there is no back
and you may begin to notice that all words are defined by other words
and all concepts all ideas all belief is made of yet more ideas and that this thinking of these ideas is simply
more ideas
more concepts
....and all are held together in a picture of what your world is like and what it is not...
layers of belief like a hornets nest of paper
letters written by no one tied together with a string of thought that says, 'this is my world'
'here I am' in this world of swirling beliefs, a galaxy of concepts that somehow seem to fit together in a costume that you wear
and you may begin to wonder if the idea that there is a someone inside this mental construction of belief that is
crumbling
under the weight of unknowing
there may seem to be a nakedness under the paper mâché mask
that no one wears
but that is simply more ideas
filling in the blankness
trying to find a light
in the dark
when there is no light
or dark
who made these empty footsteps...
who cried these tears...
who moans the emptiness of time,
and weeps at the emptiness and fullness of love....
how can the river taste its wetnes
or tears taste their salty sweetness without the interface of your tongue
what is the taste of taste?
you are an imginary lens between the brain and the universe
a prism creating light and shadow and
colors....
can you explain love?
what are we but this flowing description
that has no end or beginning nor pause
or space
between never and forever
I see no space between me and love
for I have no clue what I am or what love is
we all know this nakedness
either feared or longed for
hanging on the edge of no tomorrow...
there can be an un answered question, a hope for love
and a fear of losing ourselves in love
all questions slide out the door that has never been closed in your heart
love is like knives
soft
unyiellding
confirming your nakedness
your joy
your sorrow
our nakedness
our joy
our sorrow
our aliveness
our brief life
an open door
where love enters
and flies out
with you in her fiery talons
stars may seem fixed...
but there is no holding on
to
starlight
love is a foreign language
that your heart sings
to you
it cannot be understood
there is no need
why stars
why sky why clouds why love
why...
why?
words have no meaning nor non meaning
yet they are all we have
we are this storyline
this thought dream
meandering through starlight
the stars form patterns of ancient travellers
and archers, bow and arrow poised
only in our minds
we are star travellers
dissolving into our own light
what can you really know?, or is all 'knowing' conceptual
simply a stream of words outlining what a thing seems to be and what it is not...
words are lassos thrown around this symphony of perception, and this imaginary perceiver, never actually catching anything
yet seeimginly creating it
can you know if there is a 'knower'
separate from a paper lantern
pages of knowledge
that seem to hold light in
and yet let it shine through
time loses its meaning
meaning loses its meaning
the passion play dances across the mind screen and it is not real or unreal or surreal or maybe it is all three
all designations are felt to be false including
false and true
it is truly a feeling of floating
skinless
in and as an impossible dream of heart breakingly beautimous wonder
all the people I know
my lovers and passersby
are seen to be exploding jewels of centerless light
galaxies
spinning
dancing down the sidewalk
and that broken hearted beauty in everyones eyes
is me
is not me
for I am just another exploding rainbow
colors painting the universe
with these eyes
that no one lies behind
this kiss of everything and nothing
collapses into itself
into this
very momentary
of obvious aliveness
and what it is I cannot say
for truly I have no clue as to what love is
or I am
but I am no longer looking for clues
there is no answer
all questions fell apart when words lost their meaning
and we know that there is no controlling the rain
or the sun
and it may feel like there is someone separate from life who can control it
but can you remember deciding you were going to feel like a controller or chooser of thought or feeling
when did you decide to have these sad or joyful feelings
when did you decide that this has to be a bouquet of endlessly blooming flowers
or didn't you
perhaps all of life happens
all by itself
seems like it simply looks and feels like anything at all, doesn't it
including the feeling that it shoudn't look or feel like it does
can you say, as life happens, THIS is the beginning of a thought or feeling and NOW is when it ends? are there separate thoughts or feelings? perhaps it is because there is no one or thing separate from this flow we call life, this flow of thought and feeling that seems to happen whatever we may call it, bad or good, or in between... and the labeling of it also happens utterly naturally and spontaneously... the feeling of ease and the feeling of unease arise utterly easefully... just like you drink water and know it is wet, so is this knowing inseparable from the symphony of perception
what is this foreign tongue that I seem to speak
what is the meaning of these words that slide off my tongue
the taste of sound has no translation
nor does silence have a word to hold these empty stars
starls seems to punctuate the dark
arrows drawing attention to the absence of light
what is endless darkness
or the eternity of light
without the kiss of starlight in your eyes?
doves alight on the feeders
through the window I can feel their softness
and the warmth and roundness of their bodies
or is it my breath
my heart beating
in their chests
winter trees
lace wing sky
watching the long migration of summer
into summer
you can feel the heat
radiating in and out
rushing through your heart
pounding in your ears
love rests and folds into herself
nestles into the long cold night
what we call life feels real and unreal and surreal simultaneously, and there is no reality nor unreality.... floating as spontaneous bursts of music and light and color flow through vast edgeless spaciousness without space or music or color, there is no backdrop to be empty or full, these apparent things and events are not related nor unrelated, not separate nor joined, obviously thing-less yet memory seems to create things....
crunching an apple
teeth puncturing the redness
wet and white inside
how magical is eating and swallowing and watching
morning slide into the garden
elegant steam rise from my tea
doves float down to the feeder
and were they here yesterday
what is yesterday
what is tomorrow
what is time
I cannot find any things nor a timeline
like clouds memory disappears and reappears and provides a story of a girl a woman a songstress a.... what am I, I have no idea
only that I am an idea
and ideas are ideas
and all this is ideas
stories projected into the inside of this skull
that only I can see
I am part of the picture
no one else can see this movie
yet everyone I seem to know is in it
is it a dream is it real
what is a dream
what is real
simply whatever thought says it is
there is no trying to find the essense of life
there is no essense
nor is there not
there a sublime ease of all of it, the symphony of dreams and the dream perceiver, this aliveness seems to be subsumed in a love that has no lines yet draws them all....
thought seems to create and link separate things and events together painting a liquid picture of separate people who live and love and die....
and it feels beautiful... simply beyond belief that anything seems to happen at all
sky has no stars in the day
washed by wings of all consuming light
you can feel them
under the blanket of night
where the world turns
through distant lands
as we circle
ourselves
again and again
hello goodbye
hello
looking for the end of ideas and hypothoses for that
final
kiss
...the cause of infinity
the marrow of love...
all you can find is endless ideas
yet the enchantment of ancient songs
beckons
you hear your heart song echo in the mountain tops hidden in early morning mist
ricochet in deep deep canyons
and the leaves
trembling in autumn winds
you can feel it in the cool sand under your feet
and see it in the sunset
meandering streams with
pools of rippling
reflections
of sky
you try to hold the flowing
and sky flows through you
there was never a line between you
and sky
it is elusive but obvious
this knowing that there is no knowing
nor anyone who could know
this sublime utter intimacy of life
that you have always been
we appear and seem to meet in this kiss
of nothing and everything
rush and suck of tides
waves pumelling toward the shore
horses in a wild gallop
stop suddenly in a meadow
there are flowers
and long long grasses
a meandering stream
and endless sky
there are no outlines
nor in-lines
simply a vast measureless expanse
of what, there is no substance
not lack of substance
there is no lack
at
all
waves of long grasses
moving
un-moving
heart beat of time
in your chest
in your heart
in your footsteps
you can hear the echo of your aloneness
in the wind
in the sunset
in the lace of ice flowering on the stream
you are the echo of your own death
and you sing madly trying to drown yourself out
your quest for love and meaning
just a dusty trail
everyone seems to walk
rarely noticing the long spring grasses
lapping at your feet
warm, shallow waves of sunset bleed into your heart
or is it your heart bleeding
into
your own death
nothing is ordinary
nothing escapes this obvious beauty
love and love lost
those days and nights of deep deep grief
following trails of rain slide down the window
last bit of sun sparkles in the wetness
mirrors your beautiful tears
long light flowing across sandstone cliffs
painting deepening shadows
gathering now under the cottonwoods and the low lying brambles
a deer wanders into her sunset colors across barren sands
and fallen leaves
we saw three coyotes yesterday
sharing the wonder
this wonder of wonder
is love
no longer looking for solidity
self looses its feeling of solidity
it becomes transparant
all things lose their opacity
time a forgotton mirror
simply broken pieces of memory
shimmering in the canyon
there is a seeing through the seeing that there is a someone or something doing the seeing
and all imaginary lines separating the see-er and the seen dissolve
endless silouettes of cupped hands
like echoes of parantheses
billowing outward
and in ward
there is no where to meet
we exist in the missing of each other
this ache that we are
is our shared humanness
is beautiful
is love
the utter unspeakable unknowing of what love and beauty are
is their beauty
is love
what am I what is love
what is that deer across the canyon
what is this last bit sunlight
bathing all and everything in a perpetual magic hour
I have no idea
and am no longer looking for an anchor
of truth or meaning or reality
I am just wind
singing love songs
to the wind
this journey requires no clothes, no shoes, no map, no trail
no mountain or valley
nor earth or sky
all that is required is your nakedness
and well
that can not be denied
this utter intimacy of life
is inescapable
you cannot run away from it
it will not follow
or lead
it is your footsteps in the sand
in the wind
in the sky
it is your longing for love
and your fear
of losing yourself in love
that cuts deeply
forms the edges of your heart
where echoes of ancient love songs
smolder
we are but reflections of liquid sky
in sky
there is no origin of sky
other than sky itself
no source of love
other than love
itself
we are an imaginary split between heaven and earth
endless horizons
blooming
falling
petals of wind
in wind
beauty sliding into
beauty
love sliding
into
love
inside the sky
under the spinning stars
deep sea anenomies breathe
in your chest
all of life is singing
galaxies are forming and dissolving into colors
you can never catch
your breath
it is not yours
nor is this heart
beating
wildly
no poems can be found inside these words
no love rests inside your heart
heart beat of life
rythm of this and that
tympani of thunder
rolls through you
you are sky bursting
and the shelter of ancient love songs
scattered under the trees
poems strewn across the sky
above the clouds
there are stars
spinning
they can only be seen at night
but day cannot hide from its own light
nothing can hide
or reveal
love
leafless twigs
forgotten words
hover
suspended in the frozen winds
there is nothing to find
everything is found
nothing is lost
there are no things
everything is included
water
deep inside the ground
rumours of love
murmer
ocean of love
bathes in itself
your eyes caress its caressing
love tastes itself through your tears
and why should life
or love matter
why love
why up
what is the meaning of meaning?
questions unfurl like prayer flags and wind seems to play in the brightly colored fabric leaking colors into the wind
and sky
and this is the beauty of ancient love songs
sliding off the words
falling through the music
there is no translation
for love
everyone feels the suffering of others... as kids we are often taught by example that its just too painful and these feelings are walled off... sometimes we are taught to comfort... yet oftentimes the wanting to end someones tears is simply a symptom of our uncomfortableness
how wondrous just to be with another in their pain loving them just as they are
it seems that the feeling that there is a you who feels love
creates a boundary between you and love
between you and others
this feeling seems to be a veil between you and the feeling
but you are not separate from love
or the longing for it
what is it that you want
are you this wanting?
long low waves of summer lap at the edge of midnight
what do the words mean when you take the letters out and scatter them in the garden
hoping they will grow
shooting out tendrils
like a blind person studying your face with her fingertips
you want to know your self
you want to really know life
and love
to hold the preciousness
of this obvious aliveness
pulling back the covers you find
nothing at all
between the pages of the book
between the lines and spaces
under the letters
just more love letters
you wrote as a child
and hid them in the garden
under the fallen leaves
under the falling stars
burning
there is no rainbow at the end of the road...
colors are
stars fall
tears fall
love is
falling into their own caress of
utter
softness
between sound and silence
vibrating in the hollowing moon
tears have no color other than all
colors
bleeding into the dream of rainbows
blooming and
fading
sliding through the color land dream scape of time
and space
the lap of ancient tides
is your blood rushing into the sea
the rise and
fall
of tides
of all the wetness
that will never quench your thirst
nor leave you empty
there is no vessel
that is not water
no thing can contain all this love
love's hands are yours
love's face
is yours
love's heart
is
yours
is mine
is us
and you feel like you have reached the end of your story
all that seeking...
peering into books into words under the letters
in-between the pages
has never led you to the answer
and you are beginning to doubt that there is an answer
you have reached the edge of the known world
there are no more signs
you cannot see anywhere to go
there is no next...
you turn around and there is no back
and you may begin to notice that all words are defined by other words
and all concepts all ideas all belief is made of yet more ideas and that this thinking of these ideas is simply
more ideas
more concepts
....and all are held together in a picture of what your world is like and what it is not...
layers of belief like a hornets nest of paper
letters written by no one tied together with a string of thought that says, 'this is my world'
'here I am' in this world of swirling beliefs, a galaxy of concepts that somehow seem to fit together in a costume that you wear
and you may begin to wonder if the idea that there is a someone inside this mental construction of belief that is
crumbling
under the weight of unknowing
there may seem to be a nakedness under the paper mâché mask
that no one wears
but that is simply more ideas
filling in the blankness
trying to find a light
in the dark
when there is no light
or dark
who made these empty footsteps...
who cried these tears...
who moans the emptiness of time,
and weeps at the emptiness and fullness of love....
how can the river taste its wetnes
or tears taste their salty sweetness without the interface of your tongue
what is the taste of taste?
you are an imginary lens between the brain and the universe
a prism creating light and shadow and
colors....
can you explain love?
what are we but this flowing description
that has no end or beginning nor pause
or space
between never and forever
I see no space between me and love
for I have no clue what I am or what love is
we all know this nakedness
either feared or longed for
hanging on the edge of no tomorrow...
there can be an un answered question, a hope for love
and a fear of losing ourselves in love
all questions slide out the door that has never been closed in your heart
love is like knives
soft
unyiellding
confirming your nakedness
your joy
your sorrow
our nakedness
our joy
our sorrow
our aliveness
our brief life
an open door
where love enters
and flies out
with you in her fiery talons
stars may seem fixed...
but there is no holding on
to
starlight
love is a foreign language
that your heart sings
to you
it cannot be understood
there is no need
why stars
why sky why clouds why love
why...
why?
words have no meaning nor non meaning
yet they are all we have
we are this storyline
this thought dream
meandering through starlight
the stars form patterns of ancient travellers
and archers, bow and arrow poised
only in our minds
we are star travellers
dissolving into our own light
what can you really know?, or is all 'knowing' conceptual
simply a stream of words outlining what a thing seems to be and what it is not...
words are lassos thrown around this symphony of perception, and this imaginary perceiver, never actually catching anything
yet seeimginly creating it
can you know if there is a 'knower'
separate from a paper lantern
pages of knowledge
that seem to hold light in
and yet let it shine through
time loses its meaning
meaning loses its meaning
the passion play dances across the mind screen and it is not real or unreal or surreal or maybe it is all three
all designations are felt to be false including
false and true
it is truly a feeling of floating
skinless
in and as an impossible dream of heart breakingly beautimous wonder
all the people I know
my lovers and passersby
are seen to be exploding jewels of centerless light
galaxies
spinning
dancing down the sidewalk
and that broken hearted beauty in everyones eyes
is me
is not me
for I am just another exploding rainbow
colors painting the universe
with these eyes
that no one lies behind
this kiss of everything and nothing
collapses into itself
into this
very momentary
of obvious aliveness
and what it is I cannot say
for truly I have no clue as to what love is
or I am
but I am no longer looking for clues
there is no answer
all questions fell apart when words lost their meaning
and we know that there is no controlling the rain
or the sun
and it may feel like there is someone separate from life who can control it
but can you remember deciding you were going to feel like a controller or chooser of thought or feeling
when did you decide to have these sad or joyful feelings
when did you decide that this has to be a bouquet of endlessly blooming flowers
or didn't you
perhaps all of life happens
all by itself
seems like it simply looks and feels like anything at all, doesn't it
including the feeling that it shoudn't look or feel like it does
can you say, as life happens, THIS is the beginning of a thought or feeling and NOW is when it ends? are there separate thoughts or feelings? perhaps it is because there is no one or thing separate from this flow we call life, this flow of thought and feeling that seems to happen whatever we may call it, bad or good, or in between... and the labeling of it also happens utterly naturally and spontaneously... the feeling of ease and the feeling of unease arise utterly easefully... just like you drink water and know it is wet, so is this knowing inseparable from the symphony of perception
what is this foreign tongue that I seem to speak
what is the meaning of these words that slide off my tongue
the taste of sound has no translation
nor does silence have a word to hold these empty stars
starls seems to punctuate the dark
arrows drawing attention to the absence of light
what is endless darkness
or the eternity of light
without the kiss of starlight in your eyes?
doves alight on the feeders
through the window I can feel their softness
and the warmth and roundness of their bodies
or is it my breath
my heart beating
in their chests
winter trees
lace wing sky
watching the long migration of summer
into summer
you can feel the heat
radiating in and out
rushing through your heart
pounding in your ears
love rests and folds into herself
nestles into the long cold night
what we call life feels real and unreal and surreal simultaneously, and there is no reality nor unreality.... floating as spontaneous bursts of music and light and color flow through vast edgeless spaciousness without space or music or color, there is no backdrop to be empty or full, these apparent things and events are not related nor unrelated, not separate nor joined, obviously thing-less yet memory seems to create things....
crunching an apple
teeth puncturing the redness
wet and white inside
how magical is eating and swallowing and watching
morning slide into the garden
elegant steam rise from my tea
doves float down to the feeder
and were they here yesterday
what is yesterday
what is tomorrow
what is time
I cannot find any things nor a timeline
like clouds memory disappears and reappears and provides a story of a girl a woman a songstress a.... what am I, I have no idea
only that I am an idea
and ideas are ideas
and all this is ideas
stories projected into the inside of this skull
that only I can see
I am part of the picture
no one else can see this movie
yet everyone I seem to know is in it
is it a dream is it real
what is a dream
what is real
simply whatever thought says it is
there is no trying to find the essense of life
there is no essense
nor is there not
there a sublime ease of all of it, the symphony of dreams and the dream perceiver, this aliveness seems to be subsumed in a love that has no lines yet draws them all....
thought seems to create and link separate things and events together painting a liquid picture of separate people who live and love and die....
and it feels beautiful... simply beyond belief that anything seems to happen at all
sky has no stars in the day
washed by wings of all consuming light
you can feel them
under the blanket of night
where the world turns
through distant lands
as we circle
ourselves
again and again
hello goodbye
hello
looking for the end of ideas and hypothoses for that
final
kiss
...the cause of infinity
the marrow of love...
all you can find is endless ideas
yet the enchantment of ancient songs
beckons
you hear your heart song echo in the mountain tops hidden in early morning mist
ricochet in deep deep canyons
and the leaves
trembling in autumn winds
you can feel it in the cool sand under your feet
and see it in the sunset
meandering streams with
pools of rippling
reflections
of sky
you try to hold the flowing
and sky flows through you
there was never a line between you
and sky
it is elusive but obvious
this knowing that there is no knowing
nor anyone who could know
this sublime utter intimacy of life
that you have always been
we appear and seem to meet in this kiss
of nothing and everything
rush and suck of tides
waves pumelling toward the shore
horses in a wild gallop
stop suddenly in a meadow
there are flowers
and long long grasses
a meandering stream
and endless sky
there are no outlines
nor in-lines
simply a vast measureless expanse
of what, there is no substance
not lack of substance
there is no lack
at
all
waves of long grasses
moving
un-moving
heart beat of time
in your chest
in your heart
in your footsteps
you can hear the echo of your aloneness
in the wind
in the sunset
in the lace of ice flowering on the stream
you are the echo of your own death
and you sing madly trying to drown yourself out
your quest for love and meaning
just a dusty trail
everyone seems to walk
rarely noticing the long spring grasses
lapping at your feet
warm, shallow waves of sunset bleed into your heart
or is it your heart bleeding
into
your own death
nothing is ordinary
nothing escapes this obvious beauty
love and love lost
those days and nights of deep deep grief
following trails of rain slide down the window
last bit of sun sparkles in the wetness
mirrors your beautiful tears
long light flowing across sandstone cliffs
painting deepening shadows
gathering now under the cottonwoods and the low lying brambles
a deer wanders into her sunset colors across barren sands
and fallen leaves
we saw three coyotes yesterday
sharing the wonder
this wonder of wonder
is love
no longer looking for solidity
self looses its feeling of solidity
it becomes transparant
all things lose their opacity
time a forgotton mirror
simply broken pieces of memory
shimmering in the canyon
there is a seeing through the seeing that there is a someone or something doing the seeing
and all imaginary lines separating the see-er and the seen dissolve
endless silouettes of cupped hands
like echoes of parantheses
billowing outward
and in ward
there is no where to meet
we exist in the missing of each other
this ache that we are
is our shared humanness
is beautiful
is love
the utter unspeakable unknowing of what love and beauty are
is their beauty
is love
what am I what is love
what is that deer across the canyon
what is this last bit sunlight
bathing all and everything in a perpetual magic hour
I have no idea
and am no longer looking for an anchor
of truth or meaning or reality
I am just wind
singing love songs
to the wind
this journey requires no clothes, no shoes, no map, no trail
no mountain or valley
nor earth or sky
all that is required is your nakedness
and well
that can not be denied
this utter intimacy of life
is inescapable
you cannot run away from it
it will not follow
or lead
it is your footsteps in the sand
in the wind
in the sky
it is your longing for love
and your fear
of losing yourself in love
that cuts deeply
forms the edges of your heart
where echoes of ancient love songs
smolder
we are but reflections of liquid sky
in sky
there is no origin of sky
other than sky itself
no source of love
other than love
itself
we are an imaginary split between heaven and earth
endless horizons
blooming
falling
petals of wind
in wind
beauty sliding into
beauty
love sliding
into
love
inside the sky
under the spinning stars
deep sea anenomies breathe
in your chest
all of life is singing
galaxies are forming and dissolving into colors
you can never catch
your breath
it is not yours
nor is this heart
beating
wildly
no poems can be found inside these words
no love rests inside your heart
heart beat of life
rythm of this and that
tympani of thunder
rolls through you
you are sky bursting
and the shelter of ancient love songs
scattered under the trees
poems strewn across the sky
above the clouds
there are stars
spinning
they can only be seen at night
but day cannot hide from its own light
nothing can hide
or reveal
love
leafless twigs
forgotten words
hover
suspended in the frozen winds
there is nothing to find
everything is found
nothing is lost
there are no things
everything is included
water
deep inside the ground
rumours of love
murmer
ocean of love
bathes in itself
your eyes caress its caressing
love tastes itself through your tears
and why should life
or love matter
why love
why up
what is the meaning of meaning?
questions unfurl like prayer flags and wind seems to play in the brightly colored fabric leaking colors into the wind
and sky
and this is the beauty of ancient love songs
sliding off the words
falling through the music
there is no translation
for love
everyone feels the suffering of others... as kids we are often taught by example that its just too painful and these feelings are walled off... sometimes we are taught to comfort... yet oftentimes the wanting to end someones tears is simply a symptom of our uncomfortableness
how wondrous just to be with another in their pain loving them just as they are
it seems that the feeling that there is a you who feels love
creates a boundary between you and love
between you and others
this feeling seems to be a veil between you and the feeling
but you are not separate from love
or the longing for it
what is it that you want
are you this wanting?
long low waves of summer lap at the edge of midnight
what do the words mean when you take the letters out and scatter them in the garden
hoping they will grow
shooting out tendrils
like a blind person studying your face with her fingertips
you want to know your self
you want to really know life
and love
to hold the preciousness
of this obvious aliveness
pulling back the covers you find
nothing at all
between the pages of the book
between the lines and spaces
under the letters
just more love letters
you wrote as a child
and hid them in the garden
under the fallen leaves
under the falling stars
burning
there is no rainbow at the end of the road...
colors are
stars fall
tears fall
love is
river of wings
of reflected light
soaring rising falling emerging dissolving
light kisses light and you can feel your lips
painted with sun and tears and bits of poems
words once spoken fall into echoes
this dreamland of thought dreams itself
erases itself
and the surface of the water is untouched
as it kisses itself
through your lips
and you can feel the rumble of ancient volcanoes in your chest
continents drifting beneath your feet
rolling thunder in your heart
as it explodes
and the rupture of your world
is the crack in time
you always feared
and it always was
and it never was
and there is no more searching for that kiss you lost
long ago
those wings never let you down
the river flows
the ocean waits
water falls
into water
sky slides
into sky
no sea
no sky
no earth
no heaven
all is heaven
there is no love
all is love
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