perhaps love

perhaps love, an always for the other, is a silent with-ness burning along
pathways myriad, yearning yearning yet not at all to strive for,


and in time’s slow wheeled turning within its’eternal field of mystery, let us
witness this blooming birthing of sublime aliveness care-fully.


And by and by in earth’s good time, we shall such good uncover.

perhaps love

perhaps love, an always for the other, is a silent with-ness burning along pathways myriad, yearning yearning yet not at all to strive for, and in time’s slow wheeled turning within its’ eternal field of mystery, let us witness this sublimely birthing aliveness care-fully, and by and by all

such good we shall uncover.

bedtime

                                

 

Yes, the bed was soft, like silk, last night.

Sheets so cool they could have been water.

The pillow placed safely under my head, a reminder of all that’s good in the world.

Tucked in cozy and warm under a nest of covers, these welcoming layers blanketed my mind

from the steep and drenching rainstorms of thought. The body thankful as it leaned into rest, the promise

of sleep’s quenching replenishment soothed like a friend curving quietly beside. As the day’s scattered and tattered shouting diminished, I fell down with ease slowly, completely, into dreamtime’s green earth

of the sweetest unclenching.

Bachelor's Lament

 

Last night late too much ice cream and caramel sauce,

Today not enough coffee, perhaps overabundance of loss.

 

Smoke alarms chirp upstairs like stilettos plunged deep into the backside,

or crazed obsessive canaries on an uncaged rampage.

As far as I can tell, and I do not lie, there’s been no fire nor heat in this house for days.

These damn quasi-birds repeat their piercing pseudo prayer as they incessantly scream, 

‘where’s my fat lazy dream bride, my floor-scrubbing, quiet,
good-natured wifey?’