Slip into Wake

Between routine and compulsion is creativity My shadow leaps against the sky of my mind: it is fangs, talons, wings, and claws. I wait for it to surface; it is off hunting shards of glass, bits of rock, feathers, bones to fills my pockets. A slow voice speaks and (sonorous, lugubrious, oneiric) words flow in to fill the void which is not empty. Be still in this discomfort, be quiet in the night, sleep and dream, and wake now early before the light of day. Build a fire, build a dream, burn the dream into being across the backs of your eyes, and in that moment when the sun slits the horizon and all is ablaze with the thick light of late fall, pregnant with all the richness of the year and you are blind in that moment, yes.

with thoughts colliding, doors fall open

Needs Must

Fog from the creek coils up the valley and into my open window.

The meadow, where their laughter carried over the morning, is being readied for spring, manure worked into the soil, water lines set beneath, rows staked.

Planters and Harvesters, there is no rushing time

Quietly Dissolving into Air

I woke from a nap and behind my eyelids I saw all eternity for a moment blazing across the neurons of my brain.

Limitless

I woke in the morning one day not too long ago and the cacophony of one thousand song birds was so intensely titillating that I threw open my window to hang my head out with them in the first rays of light.

Dawn

I cannot get the smell of her perfume out of my nose. My head is aching from the manufactured odor of elegance.

Reveal