Circle of light reflecting

 

Sky chord of breathing--

It is old

 

 

and Always Open. Open-ing

 

The within the without--flows between any boundaries made...

 
Earth time. A heat. A sustenance. Family

 

and change.

Hop on. The blur;  It moves. Quickly

but remains, essentially

feathered, season by season ...stillness; flight.

It grazes together on blooms of light;

Etched to remember

rock long stacked by hands.

Old souls. We come from all over...

tangled, rooted.

Given the name, a John Quested: what did he grasp.

 

Hand shaped world-- our marks fade

simply, quietly; an elegance

emerges; leaning   each to each, as we.

One Angel frowns since June 17, 1783.

Primitive the mouth the eyes; all is Spiral

 
and Eternal--these hours; these mirages of color the eye drinks

here where Silence leans on itself, here the majesty--within us
sight, smell, touch stitched to all the emotions of a life.


.
I wish Peace to all who enter here --
and these last lines from Pablo Neruda's poem

"The Gift"

I want all the hands of mankind
to knead mountains
of bread, gather
all fish in the sea,
all the fruit
of the olive,
all the love still unawakened,
and leave
gifts
in the hands of the day.

.
are they open. your hands
willing to give--this awakening love of which we make and are made.
.
I say yes