Night breezes
tickle the chimes
we hung,
then rise
through the leaves above,
rinsing away the day’s hours,
then rise
to graze upon
the earthen rays streaming
from the crowns of trees,
then rise
to gather in counsel inside
a vast cocoon of starlight.
Underground,
the bees are sleeping,
their dreams sparking
along the synapses of flower roots.
Tomorrow they will harvest the nectar,
discovering the return of all that was given.
Life is neither plain nor mysterious.
Even a bee is a doorway,
a hidden passage.
All beings are such a circle,
a hoop that never repeats–
a night breeze blowing,
and a visible, holy need.
Sustenance is never-ending,
a line of waves continuously reaching the shore,
a field of stars by which to navigate.
Our fundamental work is
neither hidden nor obvious:
the joining of night and day,
the linking of all and none.
True desire shows the way.
Together, we incubate this world.
We incubate in this world.
Down along the shore, at night,
we meet where the breeze blows in off the sea
and winged dreams fill the sky.
The hinged doors on our hearts open
and the day’s memories are released
from cages of interpretation
to plunge into darkness
and carry their messages home.
Hollow,
endless,
becoming, we
await our dreams’ arrival,
as one by one they alight
to coo in our chest
and build nests
for the coming day.
At noon then, a sandwich.
Yes, please. I would like more coffee.
A smile has come back to me.
A ray of sunlight strikes the table with Meaning.
I have an Idea that hatches
inside of my hollowness
then rises
in a single line up towards the rafters
like the smoke of a single
cone of incense,
then rises
along the slanted peak,
exploring the deeply cracked topography
of old wooden beams,
then rises
to huddle briefly around a single, forgotten nail,
then rises
up into the sky
where it is caught by the wind,
and taken.
