on mobius winds

blowing in a baby’s face

the sun in silhouette,

wine and coffee-stained 

black ink on paper 

wrapped in last night’s warm jazz,

fingers stretch salutations

and the eye moves with the wind.

head buried in old readings 

of Heaven’s breath,

a natural history of the wind

as old as woe and bliss.

what can winds teach us?

hearts beat time east of Eden– 

what more could I ask for...

no matter the direction,

continuously ill or welcome, 

wind rules the whole universe.

spatial scale or north of dereliction

shoulders shiver in dark matter

and now there I am in a southerly wind.

at high-performance, force 4,

working movements bend in a gale,

sunlight touches the tops of palms.

reveling in the joy of animal,

asserting from my prism,

I have become my own roaring tree–

waiting for mobius wild nights, 

a west wind orders the universe.

linked neurons dance electric!

imagine every mind gathered and read,

the universe as a machine...

everything and frost disheveled. 

the eye learning clockwise– 

living in this giant algorithm,

blown dandelions on galactic winds

fundamentals escape insidious time.

found grace in the wrinkled face,

every crease must turn to dust

evolving in the noosphere to omega

in search of unifying transcendent forces.

immersed in their undoing, I ran

on the wind of jazz.