The night before left an unsettling moon

With oaks, dripping moss and must

Their smell like casks, both pleasant and

Distinctive to my senses.

Then, the sacred otherness you bring

Making its way home, relinquishing

All that was and all that will be,

Mine.

Your soothing voice, a soft wind

Fueling an extinguished flame

Within my soul,

Healing a broken heart.

When the smells of dawn, dissipate

When the sound of silence, ends

When a solitary shard of light, breaks

And when a single drop of rain, quenches…

There you are.

Weaved inside both harmony and transparency

Arms wide open

The originator, the author, the root.

I’ll always remember Sunday morning.

A sort of peaceful resolution

Incoming, filtering light casting

Skinny shadows on bamboo leaves

The promise of grace like

A still, unspeaking ocean.

Our past winds, tossed and blown through us

Like river-songs

Whose movement, vast as a desert

Mighty as boulders hugging the river-floor.

All lend a certain strength that once hid

Silently in a corner

Behind the eyelids of god.