walking the earth filling pockets with flowers,
searching for the source of beauty,
a thirst for salt in the midst of a salt cathedral,
carved and chiseled on red maple street.
now no longer attached to one place,
jumping hedge moor and the chapel creek,
blinded by white preserving crystalline deposits,
full of grace and seasoned in salt.
sustaining and liberating my compass rose
flowering the air above treespires, thick with bees
travelled the isopleths opposite the season,
and beauty was there touching north.
nothing unsavory eaten without salt,
and the memories hang in the air
resting tangible, in a solitary nest of petals.
pleading, do not forget the crumbling cathedral,
reflected on the rippling surface,
lost in what will never be seen, a heritage.
a heritage of beauty washed away,
calling me sweetly by soft pseudonyms.
deteriorating paper masks travel,
longing to see where beauty comes from.
upside down bottle tree on the African plains,
so far away from the rolling hills of home,
and beauty was there touching south.
on course for marriage to the tree of life,
when darkness comes alive on the other side.
on the outside reins pulling the four winds,
searching for the source of all beauty,
riding Sleipnir, the immortal white steed joins the herd.
convergence of cardinal points tenuously free,
mimesis dilemma pierced in hackamore bridle,
youthfully balanced for the endurance ride.
a harsh expression carves out a presentation of beauty.
the entrance hidden, no one noticed my salt cathedral,
hanging upside down as the waters of life washed and formed solace.
leave me to my final years sustained in a baobab tree,
adding monkey bread fruit to my pocket bouquet.
