There are these moments
On the edge or verge of no thing that
The strivings of some tentacle of vast beginnings
Reaches through
Something of the senses
Like an eye or ear
Emerges from the surface tension
Touched by gestures of this
Line of all beginnings
Thinned and stretched or timed
In rhyme
One might hear faint fierce whispers
Of the sighs sent to the moon
A lover’s swoon
In chorus here beneath the sigh of waves
Mere mortals make this sacred sound
The sound that like the bard
Tells all
And hopes there is the ear
Of our reflection
One Beloved
Close to earth
With ear to ground
Listening for tremors of the heart
Someone who just might
Gno
The secret name of God
We’ve whispered it with lips to ocean’s edge
All foam and froth
And clever smiles
We’ve whispered it against the shores
While grains of sand clung to our face and hair
In sweet abandon
Oh yes…and softer whispers as the flame rose
Bleaching burning derma up the spine
Soft grace
The spiral place
And now returning to the forest of the mind
My lips
Parched dry
The blessed thirst remains
And with these lips
……a kiss
Upon the bark and brine of sea air
Cloaked in fog
And worship as we may
So as to
Merge with matter
At the alter of a single oak