Spectator at the edge
Close enough to feel the spray
Of power’s fearsome rush
I scramble up an ebony mound
To find a landscape of ebony mounds
Growing to distant mountains
All of the same ebony skin
“At least,” I think, out loud
Into the air so dry
It swallows up the words
Right off my tongue
“the falling sun seems less
Like a fire
On a cast-iron skillet.”
For all I have
For all that’s yet to come
For all the possibility
Which I can not yet see
And most of all
For the love I give
And am given freely
The love pervading all
On this and every day
The grace we share through love
Another
Another
Another
How many layers deep?
I see only the next
Unpack another
See another
Unpack
Another
Until I don’t want
To see anymore
Unpack anymore
Dig anymore
Intentional purpose
Inexorable decay
Dynamic tension
Eternally entwined
I recall the sun
Hard
And hot
Burning through
The cold air coursing
I recall the sea
Singing
Its white noise crescendo
The roar
Of a planet alive
I recall this moment
Blissfully
Unattached
Firmly rooted to ground
In the grip of experience
Refreshed by the cool breeze
Chilling the fire
Of the hot sun
Atop the curvilinear delights
Of hillocks dappled
With grasses and pines
Where even infinity seems so close
I could touch it
Right there
As the curve of the Earth
Rounds the line
Where ocean meets the sky
Pix to Words 