Thinking about the fall lately and sure enough a 1001 items fall into me lap.
Somehow dreams are fun when a thought wakes us dreamy and wondering.
Something about not analyzing OR spiritualizing…but “Humanizing” …thus removing constraints…a sort of refining matter.

The drone
The cicadian drone
In the heat of evening mist
Heavy handed
Thunder from the bloom
Hummed through a comb
Of feathered fecundity
The song
The song
The Song of Songs
Holds us here
Believing in the unnamed spheres
Hinted at through blatant gestures
Stumbling childlike on the breaded path
Standing all anew
Upon the rock at water’s edge
To stretch
To arch
To face the Countries of the Summer Skies
While calling for the fire-like tendons
Once again to rise
And climb again the spinal structure to the stars

I no longer sing the Song of Songs
But lean upon logistics of creation’s cooing in the night
And swear by all the former tenets of the moon
To wait
Again
And again
And again
To fill these empty thighs with God

Sparrow Rider
more than the pounding of hoofs
across the snow covered dreams
deep steppes
or shrieks and squeaks of leather
straining against ataunt clasp and kick of heels
more than the frantic rhythm
into the sides of anima or
urgent fields of callings
from the watching forests
bathed in night drippings
of an absent moon
but
sweaty
close mane d
blending of the steed and face of reason
forced forward
upward
and inward
and a blind blending
to grids and paths
without a cause or form
this slow motioned paradox of time and space
breathes a heavy storm
straight forward
in the spin of spiral nova mind

sparrow rider
thrown
released
and timed
descend by charge and change
again and again a
feathered follies find
course myriad of deaths and resurrections
flashing frantic in the house of mirrors
changing mounts for the
pouring of ships upon some empty moor
stampedes for future nothings
to forge all valleys of death
bridging the reign bows understrange stompings
rhythmed for those
things not yet imagined
while waiting on the question
that mirrors our own

vein musings i hold
these landscapes of varied visions
and all the while I watch
wonder
and wishwithin the garden
all those things Desire
thrusts our body toward

Creation Herself the Trickster!

...rather that I dance the head of pins
than fly these course comings again
and again

pi