The moon graces
the ripples of the water
with new white lace,
crisp yet dynamic,
brilliant, and reflective
of the depths of creation . . .
a song floats up
from the bottom of that
well - - -
to quench the thirst
of my raw cells . . .
I drink deeply of
cool spring waters . . .
my face feels happy
while doors
are
help open
and I
can find a way to fly
to the empty house
on the hill . . .
shadows filter
through the trees
like moths fluttering
against the darkness . . .
I am the star walker and
I touch these glints of light
as if they were stepping stones
guiding me to the places where
beauty
and love
wash the souls of the damned
and the song of eternity
reverberates
through the throbbing heart
of that which is;
and that which was
gleams like a frozen dream
in the empty house
on the hill .. . .
where memories, like dusty furniture,
populate the stillness
and the stars glisten
with laughing eyes
through un-curtained windows . .. .
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