Whatever the spelling is for the word I’m looking for, I haven’t a clue.
If all the pieces were already in place, it seems most would never even notice.
Right in front of faces… eyes wide open… blind.
Are the ripples not clear as day… bright as the Sun?
Birds float past… beyond the need to flap… as accustomed to the currents of Life-gale as the leaves of the beings much older… celestials who have been to the south, and returned to the fold… building together a nest for the without and within… but it’s only a heap of freshly plucked twigs… and it’s only a pigeon, wouldn’t it be nice if it were a hawk?
Spinning a planet takes still-standing strength.
Maids do way more than milking.
Skin can be lost in the midst of the eye.
And sometimes forks are made of stone.
Why must the tree be stuck to its roots?
How has it not even heard the word forest?
Don’t believe all those whispers, or that ring will burn burn burn…
But Grace is your own hand plucking the fruit;
It’s rotten by the time it falls by itself.
The Middle Way
The Middle Way
Take without looking
Look without taking
Place without looking
Look without placing
We can’t exert one more millimeter or millisecond!
And sometimes you have to take some cardboard and trace the shape of the missing puzzle piece then take an exacto knife to cut it out and color it approximately the same shades and tones so it blends in with the rest of the Image where it will be placed.
And sometimes people leave.
Yet mirrors show and tell.