Through breaks in the canopy,
light is drawn suddenly over a bed of fallen stone.
Moss blankets a threshold
of cascading liquid
glistened in silk visitation
through parted curtains,
dawn fills what’s uncertain of solitude.
A glint in the eyes trained on dark corners,
was the last vestige of night.
Waterfalls write whitely from a distance,
like fingers scratching through the gloom.
You become spontaneous witness
to the surface moved to tears,
a hall of mirrors, a montage of grieving
in the mountain’s visage asking
“Who else goes through this?”
Curtain of rain and disembodied mist
disguising a precipice that seems to suggest
were only a brief process
passing through nature’s indifference.
A dream that’s continuous
confronts barricades of resistance
to the inevitable disintegration.
Through the alchemy of our shared creativity,
birth bookends death
returning to nothing save the breath
that moves the water, fills cracks in the void
with voices amplified,
in the solitude of jungles you’ll have to decide.
Paths splinter with myriad choices,
birds call out with spontaneous rejoices,
its Easter morning
and out of the rebirth and ceiling bouquet
light gifted all who comingle freely
with a new day.