The rocks bleed red and rust,
My lungs inhale Mountains’ dust.
.
I can longer revolve
Around the idea of
A cosmos uninvolved-
If this is the undoing
Of the universe, this
Universe is caring.
In these slabs of toppled monoliths
I see the very fingerprints
Of God, Himself.
.
My eyes have engulfed a scenery
Too lovely
To no longer fight against a
Society
Determined to be
A pleasant mistake-
I have A Creator and what
A Magnanimous
World He makes!
I am addicted to the wind,
To earth’s blissful rhythm.
It takes me back-
Since when
Have I need an excuse to pause?
For silence, needed a reason?
In the quiet moments of statuary wonder
I ponder
and wait for the breeze.
.
I love how one can hear it coming
As distant grasses welcome it
And far off trees’ leaves shake
And every inch of this alive planet
Sighs.
.
I am addicted to the wind,
The way it teases my hair
And my eyelashes, flutters.
A brief, moving, sanctuary.
I love that I have permission,
To create these silent seconds
(Why do I think I need permission?)
To feel it dance around me.
.
Why does the Weeping Willow weep-
its mournful branches the air to sweep?
Why couldn’t it perhaps more be
Like the Magnolia pressing at the sky’s seams
with optimistic buds in magenta unfolding?
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