Here in this room,
this morning
no machine sound,
no gears or clockwork
falling into place,
just the soundless yes
of your hair upon the pillow,
breathing softly in pre dawn light.
Here in this room,
this morning
no machine sound,
no gears or clockwork
falling into place,
just the soundless yes
of your hair upon the pillow,
breathing softly in pre dawn light.
There’s a wind
before first light
with cool air
through the window,
the long arms of ocean
reach the valley
as people along the river
surprise themselves
with ancient signs
drawn in ink
upon their skin,
of hidden life
below the river
and ocean winds
before first light.
Where angels gather
windswept rocks
and rooted pine
and raptors in their solace;
there the burning is within
the flame whose wood is light
igniting the record
of all their choices
right and wrong
fueling the rise
into deep blue
burning, letting go
light and ash
becoming seed
spread with wings
upon the wind.
The sea is far away
outside the sound of cars
yet in my heart
I touch your presence
in the quietness
without distance
like tide returning
and light after rain.