Living Well

to live well beyond


your means, find wealth in the breath


that fills you with light

Bee Line

Wherever I am


I am what is missing. - Mark Strand






Hovering above


what is missing,


the pollen dusted bee


falls into the honey


of my eyes and everything


is golden. What is


this that was,


this that now I am?


Where are my wings


to climb the sun buttered sky?


What is this emptiness


that fills my lungs


and lifts me


into weightlessness?


The wayward wind,


has the last say.


I move within


a motion not mine.


Flying is falling


when there is nothing


to rise above.


I rise with each breath,


fall into love.


 

Quiet Storm

Night is made of quiet, the day to darken.


I prop my heart open with a pin,


Set a trap, capture all that comes in.


A question always lingers,


Why can’t I hold what passes through my fingers?






I sit with the Self that lives within,


Sit with the persistent Why I Am.


A storm bursts flooding mind and skin,


Liquid light ever raining,


Oily thought, rainbow on pool draining.