Not to where I am going
Only from where I was
A roadtrip is best
Without clear destination
Without a timeline
A roadtrip is best
Without clear destination
Without a timeline
In the way we move
On the dance floor
In the way we act
In times of tragedy
In the things we build
As monuments to significance
I try to remind myself of this
In the low moments
When I feel anything but grace
Anything but graceful
A single flower
Still held in bud
Though petals fall
Onto the pond
They tarry there
Before they sink
And come to rest
To where they’ll feed
Next season’s bloom
I walk away
And let it burn
It follows me
Burns up the world
But if I stay
And let it burn
It burns away
The fuel it’s fed
Exquisite beauty
But I prefer the mystery
I cannot see
Into the depths
I cannot see
The other side
In form
In structure
In colour
In time
Beauty pens her poetry
Deftly in the nature of things
I hear the roil of white noise
Waves crashing through the broken rock
Source obscured and muffled by darkened boughs
Clinging thickly to rising land
Gather here in peace
Quieting your mind
Listen for my voice
The wisdom of the ancients
An atmosphere I choose
An atmosphere within which
All events occur
And through which
All events are perceived