Often as I walk and think,
I pull flowers from stems
and stems from branches.
Now they are here and there,
in the air
and in the story.
Perhaps this is all
we ever are:
slowly something else.
Updated: Aug 20, 2019
Often as I walk and think,
I pull flowers from stems
and stems from branches.
Now they are here and there,
in the air
and in the story.
Perhaps this is all
we ever are:
slowly something else.
He 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