second chances

Bend a full window; by the interest into turning, by the rose in climbing, by the patience in flying. Before and belong; keep the language outgoing, the bird songs in my ear, the tiny feet on the ceiling, in the wings and flowers, and the hairs and gasps for more love, around skylines and horizons, between fingertips and eyelids, in fears and intuitions.

Where is the multi-pitch rain shadow reflection, cross motored and quilt eared in metronic saturation and saturnic quatrains? Bleeding by so many different names, mouth to mouth in the shame, ashes and wind. Shining crevasse, which circle is it that is illuminated, and which has its own needs? Where does light end and vision begin? What is the time between a river and a canyon? What is the velocity of a line left by a shooting star? How many times does an idea change after it is expressed? How many times does it exist before then? Does the heart only squeeze blood, or is it more like a butterfly rippling the top of a pool? What is the distance between experience and impulse? Between inside and outside? Between warmth and cool? In these precious folds rolls your life, held in the hands of God. The hands that hold all and bestow all. Where you listen to your voice free of words. See with your eyes free of vision. Experience your touch free of sensation. Your heart free of love. Your mind free of thought. Your breath free of breathing.

The more stillness, the more each resonations fullness knows. Where does the stillness come from? Where do the resonations come/go from? Where am I now and where have I been? One candle lights a mist out on the desert, like a child in a dream, deeper into a fuzzy world. No one can find the hole in me ears where all the emptiness goes. Imperceptible winds, things I’ve overheard. Puts my mouth in a tender strange land, where I talk with other people’s secrets. Stories of original thunder asleep within the words. Myth of the mystics. A wind no one knows carries a force no one feels. We pretend in the name of today’s sunlight, there’s only a story to tell, and pay each other well, with every juicy hands oasis, out on the desert, like a child in a dream, deeper into the indefinite waves, lifting senescences from my scalp, no one can trace a single step in the iridescent webs. Only refuge in the sanallipsal zephyr all along the magnificent coast in the circles of completion, you can travel for days and not be any closer or be any further away. All of my comforts and dreams reveal you, play in the sweeping veil undulations of disappearance. All along the peaceful coast, no one can trace a single step only listen to the gentle invitations, the ripple in the world’s resonant field of pinpoint doorways, one candle lights a mist, to circles of completion. No one can trace a single step. Only a tremulous heart to mark the stars in the sailors’ eyes. Out on the desert, like a child in a dream. Listening for the wind that brought me here. In the river and times rushing to meet, the sand morning painting color, a broken moon residue of sounds wafted up through an orange and pink tree. Settling into eyes and pens, edges of clouds, and brow lines. Angeles in disguise. Each time I cut/turn the deck, I spread so much thinner, my spine leaps, the purple road tuning into noon peaks, the swing around the tree moves to the edge of each satellite balloon riding the canyon night wind. Deepen the shadows across the outline. The sea below the shoreline. Carry the dawn color seams and the sky’s round arm, smile over the end of time. The land of giants of time and of kissing. The river lives in a flame.