To Create

Night settles over the silliness of this idea.

It’s a velvet blanket that swaddles me so hot 

I sweat crystal beads of hope.

Encouraged I close my eyes.

In a dream I linger at the precipice of a sand stone cliff.

I ignore cautious tales etched in dark lacquered rock

the fate of past artists, poets, authors

their names engraved along with the date they leapt.

Who was appointed to record their secession?

My mind shuffles to answer 

as I exit the ledge.

Just one step and I’m falling

arms outstretched like a great blue heron

face turned up, lips curled, eyes wide open

nothing but air to greet my foolishness.

A Lone Soul

A void and a mass 

the conundrum of 

being a lone     soul 

finite, infinite 

just like the rest

seeking soul’s purpose 

before convention

consulting the stars

which gaped down upon 

me as a child who 

lusted for the lights’

source, a soul      alone

standing on the road

outside my then home

wondering at the

vast night sky as it

vibrated my still 

percolating bones 

bringing them      in tune

though unwittingly

for the music I 

already knew, had 

been baptized in long 

           before