Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Fog Unbound

When hilltops vanish into fog
Real Magick happens…
The Language of Birds
Gets automatically translated
By the heart—
Occluded brilliance is the Sun Dog;
Luna, a feline principality
Beyond words.
Breathing is Fine Art!

Oh yes—birdcalls echo through
Ravine muffled and softened at the edges.
All of the morning becomes no more,
No less than me and you
Tiptoe along limestone ledges;
The layer-cake of Mother Earth’s
Trillions upon trillions of fossilized lovers…
This life is no game, nothing to rehearse
It’s the real deal now and here
Under the covers!

Yes, Father Earth, let me pull back your mask
Let me undress all your reasons
To withhold any particle of love;
You are all 3 X 3 colors of quarks
In the innermost Temple of the Atom—
Mute labyrinths
You offer in darkness:
Soft and hazy brilliance of your blue elliptical soul—
This White Dove
Of mystery
You call down with open arms

Abide, abide, abide…
Honor unspoken names of Mother Eve—
Here’s the thing to spread your wings:
On such a hilltop hidden,
Forever twilight
There is no Other Side
And the crack between the worlds
Remains open

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