ink dark rain
you in the ink dark rain-
the inky tide of morning,
sounds of the tide of hands
washing shells not yet seen
land,
and this pink in the center of it’s fold,
it’s sunrise as seen from the deep center
of ocean, from the deep center,
where the god once polished
his flute, where he once decided
desire was to live for desire
alone-
heartbeats come as tides do,
washes over me, over it,
wash over the heavy land,
the heavy song of water lifts
it’s head to look at me
standing over it-
not the joy in picking the rune
that says, yes you’ve found it,
this is the unified field.
I write words that connect
spaces between breath,
breezes that blow
through us.
Us, like the skeletons of leaves we save,
printed upon lifetimes we save,
washing the gold forehead
of the chosen one
in rain.
The god put the flute to his mouth,
and it sang.
And it sang, all night until
the morning turned her face
and looked towards it,
she reached for it,
the nuzzling glory it is:
light.