GRACECENTEREDINCREASE (having crossed some great waters)

Hope is a hard place to maintain
A person who hopes he wont spend another summer here
the only recourse to dream
under the mountains
one is constantly looking upward for inspiration
where above the skyline of pine branching out reluctantly blaring sun across the sharpness of black rock
I live
heady, billowing, clouds, under-shadowed, seamless blues, the sky
since I came back from "the city" I have only lived to dream
collected scraps of mugwort
So (sleeping with mouth open) I could be closer to her, intense brown eyes
I have been filling up on shadows of her adorning me with touch that I have written the script for
when I awake I am disoriented
Where am I?
this place under the mountains
after crossing the great waters, literally
body and mind
there is always a toll?
As I have been taught "bring a prayer"
A week ago I was perched up on a sunken sea craft
a long gentle crossing, the prayers did help
bottle beach, I loved those woman picking at her endless laundering of humanity
across the planes I kept myself from weeping by admitting I could learn
to be friends
climbing into bed just awkward when she finally rolls over to me for a moment and holds my stiff unresponsive body
now we have two
and a very lovely drive between friends
expansive mind
joy at knowing the world as beautiful
the color- grass and sage, mounded hills mingled with awkward rows of corn bleeding at her contours
then as the purple sky reflected farewell to the sun great forested bodies of water surrounded by giants
dark emerald clusters, shimmering these weeping arches, juniper
what silver left behind catches on what resembles russian olive
A shaman in the clouds
the purple reflected in water
talking softly of longing
paths
without mentioning the feet, souls
I meant to
They where scattered among the shore
notice the wind molding the sand and the squawking of sea birds
the same wind that has stirred me all along
and encouraged the bells ring (just often enough)
A bell that is forged by human hand, fire and wind
sounds just so
to the ear
we have inner truth, or centeredness
a spring that swallows the noise
a leaf who trembles the wind
a flower who gave birth to its seed
hope is like a child
The heart is an infant and a miser
every breath one endures the dream