The shift was palpable.
From the road
through the first layer of trees,
the mind quietly surfaces
somewhere parallel.
Between the notes of a Shama
leading deeper
by beak and by feather,
the lyrical river
initiates the medicine
in the essence of nature
with canopied light
to transcribe the
enigma of moss
on illuminated stone
faces from the past
when you’re no longer alone
in reflection
in pictures and portals
through dark pools
for the outstretched wings
emerging.
With stealth you’ll go
tree to tree
through the valley,
emissary to the summer breeze
that breathes
in one animated pull of the string,
everything is tied together.
Your white feather
was the first light
in the night sky,
woven in the outlines
of mountains,
a temporal indention
in all the transitioning.
The serenity of streams,
the crystal renewal
of movement
that doesn’t cling to branches
or any one position.
Like a worm in the beak
of indecipherable information,
I’ll go with you down valley.
In Wailupe
rock root meandering.
In Moanalua
by the ruin of a grand staircase,
this parallel place
hidden from view,
caressed and cool
ribbon of silence
only broken by song,
caught in the jungle’s mesh
lush beneath palms.
A thrush and the passing rain
will nourish the parched,
far from the city squalor
and those who’ll twist nature
into backdrops,
into what can be quantified,
voices disrupting the silence.
In the nexus of choices,
there are those that lead you back.
Time, with crystalline continuity
becomes a thought,
firm, re-assuring
that I would rather be here than there,
coming to meet
that which is obscure
but never leaves.
yakskinpocketnotes 