Discussing spiritual or mystical things more deeply

That soft feet can dance
Across the hard-packed loam of my heart
The Sun's gentle rays can reach
Through the thickets, all the way down,
Roots can reach deep endocrine currents,
Beauty can touch recesses of my being,
Is life-giving love.

 

As I look for empty pages
Leafing through a notebook
There are ornate diary entries
Scribbled notes
Grocery
Equations and vocabulary
And the pages at the back torn off
By the Muse holding on for her life

 

The chiselled sandstone ledges of the old bell tower
Have been freed of their anti bird spikes
And, piled with straw and moss,
Await the pigeon's return to their roosts
In a gesture of vacant fluttering invitation.

 

A person prays for some relief,
but to no avail,
All seems hopeless, no escape
and then
one drop of nectar changes it all.
A cruel trick to create
something so beautiful
and
something so terrible.
Are these the two poles poets & seers have spoken of?
Must we swing 'twixt the two?

 

A nighttime alley full of silent cars before me
Behind, the rain-wet courtyard fragrant with urine
White plastic tarps heave and billow to my left
Droning chimes ring to my right, a wind-swept scaffolding
All around, the streetlights flare
And afterimages stand like tags and graffiti inside my eyelids.

 

As the Sun rises thru the trees in the garden,
I see starlings galore nipping at the coconuts.
Other birds also visit sharing such excitement.
An elegant site as the day starts to create itself.

Indeed, my observation & feeling such an event is part of the day's creation.