A Question of Questing

Scoured in the throat

of a sandstorm 

poems sprout wings

without words, yet implore

this tribe of clouds

these cotton soldiers 

lost in dreams of forgetting

where are the healers

and rowdy prophets,

those rambling ranks

of upwelling birds?

.

where stillness

soaks clear

waters

a lone

hummingbird

sits

 

may I..

skywards fall

into this lap

of clouds,

may I?

 May the words you

utter and write

ring true

through the fog

in the bones

of your life

Question

Scoured in the throat

of a sandstorm 

poems sprout wings

without words, yet implore

this tribe of clouds

these cotton soldiers 

lost in dreams of forgetting

where are the healers

and rowdy prophets,

those rambling ranks

of upwelling birds?

 

Summer

Marooned no more,

you step into surf where wind washes

fresh skin, Seabirds and Clouds

shout all of your names

as toes sculpt

their lush futures

squishing,

sinking further

into thick

singing sand.

 That morning after first

Light and in the delicious 

Falling back asleep

There came an in-blossoming upon

Your dreaming self, the spirit and

Fragrance of which brought you

To a precipice of love for all imperfect 

Persons in their native beauty, their

Natural eccentric goodness 

As your resting deepened

Further

Into a most sumptuous darkness….