Connections are mysterious and their reasons, even more so.
Language converses and transverses in many forms-
Signals, gestures, waves, and frequencies…
Connections are dots traced within the northern sky,
Such unique and distinct beauty, seen centuries before our time. Connections are made from chemical architecture of the brain-
Creativity, intelligence, memories, and dreams…
Connections are the fabric of our being,
Flowing freely- DNA, molecules, neurons, to vertebrae. Connections are made of words and music, written and composed for eyes and ears-
Structure, phrases, rhythm, and form…
Connections are of perpetual art and architecture-
Visual, symbolic, geometric, and design.
We are all connected, here, in this moment, in the stem of things.
My world is a grain of sand, a fallen rock in debris
My reflection is a reverie of golden castles on Sylvan beach
My words are woven into minds of many, both young and old
My heart goes out to one, you see, it’s beyond my control
My mind is filled with such imagination and unworldly dreams
My voice is unheard, a radio wave of silent screams
My destination is uncertain, as I’m falling through empty space
My hope is not to disintegrate before it’s too late
The world is falling under my feet,
Under my bed while I sleep.
It swallows the night whole,
It swallows me.
I shield my eyes from the sea,
The sea of floating people and streets.
If the moon be hollow tonight,
Let my soul be solid tonight.
If not, my soul the same.
Nocturnal ones blink at me,
Ever so transparently.
They fly their paper wings,
With unwritten books
Of confessional speech.
A vibration of sound
Echoes in the foreground.
Voices carry me back to gravity.
Chorus of American redstarts-
Bind me to your ashen skies
Blanket the earth between your world and mine
Break of dawn,
Bloom of asters-
Fall has fallen and the rise of sun has spoken:
Good morning, Autumn