In midsummer, under the luminous
sky of everlasting light,
the laced structures of thought
like the filigrees of the white
dandelion turned pure white and
hovering at the edge of its own
discovery in flight. I’ll do the same,
the shimmering dispersal of tented
lodge in the tangled landscape
the least discrimination. So let my own
escape the burning wreck of ambition,
through the hushed air, let them spread
into the tangled part of life that refuses
to be set straight.
Herod searched for days looking for
The mind’s hunger for fame will hunt down
Let them find safety in the growing wild.
I’ll not touch them there.
where is the final knowing and how does it present its clarity? where does the ocean meet the sky? who can really see the detail embedded in the heart? how do we hold each other?
Sometimes, when a bird cries out,
Or the wind sweeps through a tree,
Or a dog howls in a far off farm,
I hold still and listen a long time.
My soul turns and goes back to the place
Where, a thousand forgotten years ago,
The bird and the blowing wind
Were like me, and were my brothers.
My soul turns into a tree,
And an animal, and a cloud bank.
Then changed and odd it comes home
And asks me questions. What should I reply?
One of the hardest things in life is having words in your heart that you can’t utter…….James Earl Jones