The Flame Has No Shadow
I stand on my paddleboard
slicing glassy waves
wondering what English name
to call the wee bird
bobbing up and down beside me.
there’s almost always a word.
two daughters called to it and it dove forward,
sun fading as the surf scooter took flight.
summoned to grasp the spirit of our time,
we are moths drawn to our beach fire.
directs us to the safety of the stacked circle
of stones, our tiny beacon a pharos
fading in its simple symmetry.
light has no shadow! the flame has no shadow!
watch sweet technique with smooth agility,
tides of warmth wash from the sea’s reflection,
and dance across the ripples to my garden
of pride in two strong women
that know how to be weak.
eyes from dimple to temple,
women of divine feminine power.
in a morning’s news cycle,
the Venitian Voga
deliver groceries from gondolas,
service in this chaos must be our focus.
the lust for certainty is the most dangerous thing.
in that rigidity is where violence occurs.
desire, thirst for the absolute
is driven by the fear of death.
fire has no shadow!
...and tomorrow it will not be April anymore.
another globalizing year consumed with plague
again in the wonderful month of May,
sweet odors of spring; flowers, herbs, and trees.
sweet oceans of mist realize forests are on fire.
we are still headed for a megadrought,
the maypole circled in ribbons capped with antlers.
islands of turtles, whales in silence,
a tiny corner of the veil has been lifted.
we talk two Mercurey wines and a bottle of gin,
appreciate the rest reveries of the solitary walker.
the earth just needs a few fallow years to replenish itself
appreciate the rest reveries of the solitary walker.
in our lightness,
the violence of terror, the violence of money,
there is also a ferocity of spirit. we keen,
we chant, we howl, we recant, we sing...
systems have passed their historic usefulness.
spirit is wherever there is a breath
inseparable from air and wind.
what goes in and out of every living thing
percolates up through the ocean waters,
froths in stream-beds, and aerates river curves.
the earth itself breathes.
it is human nature that can’t be trusted.
a mark, a worker looks up taking his name in vain.
spirit is forgotten ever working forward.
you don’t understand! you don’t understand,
but it is the worker who must slow down the death-dealing.
cast no shadow, go home.
we must shut shit down. we must!
Mayday! we broke bread alone...
