The meditation was something, something courageous
lifting the vine, the skin that covers what we know,
in that moment flesh ripped from bone, darkness into dawn-
the ecliptical change, into light.
A whirlwind spins dried maple drifts across
softness, gathering, the absence of mother means something. Her gentle brush against the innocents hurried along reaches into the blackness covering long stretches of thought.
The calmness spills into the stream resting in solitary pools, overwhelm, want to grab, and shake me to consciousness. The darkness, stirs the nightmare, encaged, rippling the soft strokes in the pool as mother calls my name.
