Layers disappear.
Years fade.
We could be Victorian or prehistoric.
There are no titles or expectations.

Light is warmth and definition.
The only guides are hip and hand.
Perfect words are left unspoken.

There is a moment of alignment.
We are enlightenment.

Today’s oasis is a fireplace.
Tomorrow’s could be Antarctica.
We are time with no need of place.

Dreams come to us fully formed.
We are explorers.
There is no need for worry here.
We are all that we need.

The wave of hallelujahs
crash thicker and rougher
some days, stripping away
things that do not matter

overcoming a tender spirit
that persists in reaching
for what is beyond the storm.

The cupboards are stuffed
but I am empty and full only of echoes.

Following a line from point A to point Q
and it makes little sense. He is just
off the path but I see him, feel him there.
I read about long journeys
and relate to the brutal cold of the Arctic.

Someone gifted me the warmth of a poem
today and it felt like it could be home.

“Thank you for loving me”
is like thanking me for a storm
that brings destruction, then a rainbow.
I smile while holding back a story of falling
because I do not know how it ends.

Morning rang out with a hallelujah
amid an unholy roll of the body
as it brushed off the moonlight.

The lovers looked out their window
and were graced a sunrise
worthy of their dreamtime.

Even the fog was deferent
in the face of something larger
than mountains or plans for breakfast.

It was too cold for birdsong
but warm enough for the blues,
so they drew the curtain and reveled.

Yesterday was moot.
Tomorrow was anyone’s guess. Today was meant for reveries made real.

A thunder of drumming
that no one seems to hear
beats an ancient song
of struggle and release.

There are no answers
when questions are derived
from quantum storytelling
and divining cloud shapes.

Today finds new threads
following old patterns
and the love that blooms
is bright and evergreen.