We’re not always looking
for an ancient cadence.
Sometimes the many-pistoned
hum is enough.
The beginning and end
of every journey:
our freedom is to incantate,
our freedom is to turn to something new.
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See AllHe moved across the forest They moved across the forest It moved across the forest moved across the forest elephantly. across the forest under the autumn star the azure trees the fruit of rippling way
that beauty shadows on the grass moon; hand; dance come alive, remember you, remembered reborn, we cannot sleep dreams have no answer but deep, close to the heart they say be seen, dream with one anot
The sun someday will be love again. The mountain someday will be sand. The land in the end will begin again, and flowers grow out of its hand. I remembered an ancient poem, held under the tongue of a
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