The
value of life—is quite emphatic, speaking with a ninety year old saint.
The
eyes are sympathy, to channel a reservoir, to flush a river. Chi is moving,
a
spirit’s dance, to invoke fire. We storm through presence, to watch it peek,
to
nudge for silence. This for waves, a lived event, to circle a universe.
We
float a planet, a mini-cosmos, free of anxiety; in which it comes, to seize
for
loins, to tumble over. We’re a vest of pages, and neatly typed up—in
cryptic
letters. I’m a page in thee, and ye in me, to plant the smallest seeds;
for
life is mystic, to churn the soils—with a life of fertilizer; and grand the
flux,
to pierce a heart, to vibrate Infinity; where days are jasper, for burgundy
eyes,
and turquoise streams. I see it in violets, and fluorescent greens, the
Spirit’s
motion.
It’s
more a wish, and less a dream, the weft of a thousand hearts. We wrap in
tears,
and flee through joys, to settle in radiance. It’s a must believe, for the
soul
is turning, and grinning its force. The lights are bouncing, from gut to
mind,
trekking through psyches; and more to chi, to ignite passions, singing
in
a deep cave; for life is love, and the power thereof, to earthquake the souls.
