let me feel the moon in the sky – feel the tide rise crashing pulsing waves that animal my limbs and fidget my fingers, let me speak in the tongues of the crazy and the loved, the muttering who saw the world when the rising moon still mattered. there is no sleeping in this…
of course they would come holding bits of night in dark shadows under white wings that whisper low along the road sighing across the rooftops. they will find the moon before it sets. beyond the hilled horizon where it has already plunged orange and silent behind the trees, they will find the moon beyond these…
if the world is created by our breath by the words we speak, then it was the moon that made me this morning first light waning soft amongst the trees speaking me into the world. if the world is made by our breath and the spaces of silence between, then it must the sun that…
so i stood this morning feet wet with dew and watched that turmeric moon roll the forest horizon dip below the trees, and there by light flimsy as my cotton shawl i pledged allegiance to love – to this unraveling path of beauty and this glorious revolution.