We are the liberation
The transcending joy
Of ego annihilation
The whispered song of breathing
Weaving through the leaves
Of trees left weeping
Drops of seeping summer rains left dropping
A breath forever rustling in my soul
Gliding wings of dragonflies 
Dislodging down and dodging leaves
Spinning spirals crashing down upon me
Like a thousand colors of paint
Longing to be
So absently
Brushed into the language
Of our being

Guard yourself gently
As we approach the holiest of holies
Lest we stir from slumber
The soft mumbles of summer lovers
Of rummage sales and clutter
Fumbling loosely over buttons
In their sleeping lives
So are the seeds of our souls
Such small and fumbling things
Tiny tumbling orbit rings
Each a spec of dust dispersed
Across a universe
So vast

Let it awaken
Be what is meant to be
Until you are unable to watch the trek of an ant slipping over your wrist
And not wonder at the sheer enormity and complexity of creation
An infinite stack of layers of beauty and design

We are the vaguest of shadows dancing in the light of our Love
We are the tambourine and steel drum playing preachers in the streets
Delirious with the sway of street corner performances
In the middle of a sultry, drizzling rain-soaked New Orleans night
Can you hear the loneful wail of the trumpet call
Will you stop to wonder
“How did she know the song of my breathing?”

Copyright: My writing and photography are my gift to you.  You are free to copy and share them under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives license.