they say the crumbling of the invisible wall lies
just beneath the surface of the 1½-page point.

scribbling madly while sitting on the rim of
the vessel that is dawn
i’m almost there, when… dream fragments:

a slice of amethyst
a morsel of monologue
a scent of challenge
an air of quest… a stallion
a shield… a sword
an abundance? an extreme
of sensory stimuli
a lush tree… jeweled with leaves
and the air? iridescent with
the shimmer of stars
a cape? a cloak.

the ringing of my own inner voice.

and, just there… an intricate labyrinth.

i know my way.

the eye of the needle
has never been wider.



i can think of a hundred thousand questions
to ask of the unknown, but if the unknown
extended its lips and proposed to offer me
a response, i would decline it.

thank you, unknown, i would say.
thank you, but… stay as you are.

there is nothing more liberating than an
unpredictable existence. i need but
recall a once calculated life...
i look back no more.

freedom lives inside this psyche…
this core… this cosmos
without orbit.



another mindful serendipity...

that evening . . . on the sailboat
rocking in motionless water
off the coast of beatitude
a seagull swept out of
one ethereal pocket
of deep indigo
into another
the sky