Wednesday, October 13, 2010


There is purpose in the highs and lows.
Fly over rocky terrain 
entranced in sea waves, currents, 
light of the Moon. 
There is magic in the swoon, 
the dizzy heights, 
seeking ecstatic stars. 
Carry the seed below, 
stumble among rocks, 
tillable soil, 
carrying water, 
stirring the mud into food 
for hungry beaks, 
falling, entrenched, away 
from seeking. 
Solidly aware 
that touchpoint of glory 
above the waves 

June 6, 2010 

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