
The Hat is fit by heads, a tool of weighty stuff
Mighty high and mystical
power placed upon.
It is not stuck forever there but easily retired
Thoughts expand the wearing soul
The Hat is lifted off.
The Hat is fit by heads, a tool of weighty stuff
Mighty high and mystical
power placed upon.
It is not stuck forever there but easily retired
Thoughts expand the wearing soul
The Hat is lifted off.
Lighting the path beyond,
the moon leans toward a fate larger than death,
the eastern sun bullied by looming clouds of day.
Life speaks daily in the rise and fall–
hope wrapped in even the darkest morn.
Restless for the air outside
in the light of un-stained glass.
I count my breath to calm my spirit with
doors closing and hushed children.
Invocation then
to dreams and freedom
away from pretense and prose,
Amen.
I woke to rolling thunder, exploding heat
clouds exhausted in felled surrender
and at my feet the ground gave way
in one deep breath a thousand sighs
the miracle I know as summer rain.
The memory soaked moment
unwanted
stains
glass windows of prayer
church is not a go to place
but a space
where you are off stage
being
the beauty of creation
celebrating
home
In the cycle of death
beyond time and space
a light
boldly sings
an essence of forever being
and my soul remembers why I am.