These many moods of the churning cycle
with the wink of moon
the kiss of fog
and softly glowing pink hues
splashed against a violet canvass
Please show me where to place my lips
upon the fiery crown
to welcome home the roaring lion
I barely have a poetic breath
left in the lines of my palms
but I live out these visions each day
and cradle them close to heart
If all I have are fragments
slipping past the veil of consciousness
to tease my tongue with ineffable thoughts
then I will do my best to sigh sincerely
Whether we laugh or weep
in the pouring rain
our steps will learn to tango
with the shaman king of the dancing geese
and the birds will chirp
to herald spring
and the buds will shift
from red to green
and all these gifts of grace
will brand our spirits
