#bicycle #italy #sea #seaside
How deeply are you living, friend? How sense-deep. How heart, and
A frosted cake layered with cars and people, rosetted with gulls, points out toward quiet afternoon islands.
When the Moon moves between our Sun, Earth and up-raised eyes, through the long-held breath of our wisdom-keepers,
Fog pours in through the half-open windows. Fills our small bedroom by the bay. Pools
Once cloud-high mountains, shaped and worn from hundreds of millions of rainfalls, windfalls, frosts. Rounded now
After you uncork him and he appears in a serpentine of white smoke. Before he grants you
At precisely 9.25. When the moon, the first and most abundant one of the new year,
The only thing warm tonight in the deep winter sky ~ and soon to occlude. The Wolf Moon, Ice Moon, Old Moon.
It arrives on a warm white cloud. It arrives on soft rolls of ocean waves along a sand pebbled shore. It arrives on a bed
Motoring solo through the immense, silent, parted heart of the forest of Chinon. The birdsong air
Each time you breathe in the Earth’s air, the life-giving air, you breathe out a cocktail of
While countries, armies and ideologies battle, bees make honey. Butterflies float, and drink the nectar from gently open flowers.
Of my family name. One day, 150 years ago. In a Castle Garden where Jenny
Circa ‘50s Wichita. Your mother, Gladys, going for her blue rinse,
What we belong to. What we can point to out there; around us. And what a singular gift. Our innate sentience.