My heart finds the shape
My heart finds the shape
of water
and sky becomes sunlight—
becomes you—
your face, revealing
the weight of all your tears:
a signal of love
for the life you hold dear.
Stand, darling,
tall.
By this tree, and sing.
Of the union in your love,
and your longing
to be free.
And come, child,
here.
Up, on my shoulders,
the sky is your Mother;
your joy—the light.
And your laughter
is my Grace.
And for your heart
is my Fight.
So steady, my hand
supported by Earth:
send a symbol of love—
signals of tears.
Upon this vast, terrible—
beautiful—World,
our hearts find the shape
of water and wind:
infinite, our love
for each other.
Knight and King
Said the Knight to the King:
“And what if I were to tell you, O Great Ruler, that the Symbol of War is Yourself and that all else falls into Void and Darkness lest you wage Yourself against the World that is Truth?”
And the King had no response but sat a while in contemplation, for there was a Song outside the halls of the court that lighted upon his ears and made the world shine with brightness he had not before seen. And it was Clear to him that what the Knight said was True and that he was the Symbol of War and that the War was Himself.
So he set down his crown beside the throne of forgotten tomorrows and danced his way through the Court of Masks and heard the hissing of Vipers all around but did not Fear for fear was Illusion.
And coming upon the Doorway, he paused for a moment, and Silence was audible, and Nothing was tangible. And it freed his steps and heart and mind, and like one feels after cleansing themselves in a great river he leapt across the threshold and entered into the world where flowers blossom on withered trees and laughter is hidden in tall reeds and willows.
And the Knight still stands beside the Throne, guarding the Crown that rests there and he says unto the silence:
“Lest you Awaken into Sound, the Empty Throne exists to show you the way to Peace. But do not think it is Symbol or mere Phantasy, for it is Realer than You take yourself to be, and will stand on the top of the Mountain of the World for a good long while after all has returned to Void, patiently awaiting its Crownless King.”
Blessed Hands
I
Take me, now,
the blessed hand of maturity,
ravaging the field
where I was borne.
So you lift me.
Up, into cold air.
And this vision, wide,
cannot contain you.
We have lost
our forms
seas of clouds
can no longer hold us.
I am falling
through them into you
where inside becomes
a dimmed holy light.
Often, I cannot tell
Who writes? Who speaks?
A blue sky, clear as dawn
where dizzying time began.
And if I fell,
would these bones shatter?
You see, it scares me—
our human fragility.
But the trees bend
hands in prayer
to the clouds above
and this biting air.
And we soften—blue,
shades of green embrace us.
A shield.
You said—you promised,
maturity begets courage.
Why did you not tell me,
how much it takes away?
II
The masquerading hands
falling through the cracks
in time. You’ll see the signs—
not even God knows.
Perhaps they’ll grasp you
from in between, where you live,
half alive, half unknowing,
like a song not finished.
The chorus of angels
will try to sing your heart
to completion’s rest.
But the ground!—it aches transparent.
As every day swallows,
every night reveals
what kept hidden, the light,
those hands can never touch.
Still,
the mountains want to speak
with you.
But the light
covers their mouths.
You could never grasp it.
The night, the stars,
a tree, a bird,
a song
caught
in your lover’s throat
like the sun
waiting to be born.
Smoke—
it rises, a signal,
clears your heart, pulled
toward the ocean
where it mingles
with water and salt—
your tears, the sea.
It is pulled by you.
Your longing, resonant with a world
where you finally grasp
another hand.
III
Even the trees have stories.
But do the lights
have shadows?
A cloud I cannot taste;
I want something
my teeth can bite into.
But perhaps reality evades
our constant flailing attempts
to make it something solid.
We fall through the trees
and into shadow’s light,
as if we were the clouds
Once—We were the Sun, all light
Blazing before, the earth
tried to hold us down.
We will never hold anything
except the love we give each other,
these blessed hands of ours.
Shadowdance
A noble-hearted fool
dances with his shadow at dawn,
and the Sun comes
upon the mountainside, aglowing.
Like a plant that grows
from a seed, he reaches upward
toward the dawn
that resonates through time.
He knows that he cannot know,
and he remembers
what it means to forget.
And so love,
Say the wise.
Be patient,
and be kind.
Love each other
as your own.
For there is no high,
No low or alone.
Isn’t it funny?
Our strange fate:
To love and not know
We are what we seek.
My shadow, he sits
beside me at night.
‘Round the hearth, the fire,
the cosmic dance of life.