as rocks tumble from mountain tops
and the wind steals the smoke and the dust
to hide those pieces away, inside purple flowers
in the river vale below, the one who winds ’round,
devouring whatever dares linger upon its edges,
with waters who lap like tongues
and froth like the hunger of lovers,

as those rocks tumble,
I saw his life around him,
bowls and picture frames undusted,
scattered dishes round sink and stove,
and laundry waiting for her soft hands
home sweet home has to be right,
to quench the thirst and hunger
of both, who cling to the tightrope,
mountain connected to mountain,
as they – carrying too much too soon —
fall into the ash and the stone.





3 Comments »

  1. Hi, I was reading your article on “Material Consciousness” and didn’t finish but came back the next day and it’s disappeared! I’d love to finish the article. Do you know anything about it? I left a message here because that page does not open! 🙏🧡

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s