singing down the sun

it is hardest to write

a poem for your

 

self; instead of sending it

out, off into the universe,

 

this one drills down,

directly in:

 

straight through

the sin and lore

 

and shimmer

of deflection

 

to the very

core.

 

how can we be capable of

such great heights and

 

such despicable

depths?

 

we keep making plans,

making plans,

 

pretending we will never

fall across the threshold.

 

if you wait long enough

in a still, small room;

 

if you can out-pace

the race of your fear;

 

you can hear

its call:

 

spirit narrating

from beyond,

 

embodying

all —

 

telling you to look

to the sparrow, to the

 

love-numbered hairs

on its regal head,

 

ward of boundless wonder

flying without worry

 

just above our

milling austerity;

 

singing down

the sun.

20141129_164628(0)-1

 

 

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