Drop Cloth

(Late Entry – Written 6/30/12)

Draped over me like sweat on a smoltering day in Savannah is the concern that I’m somehow missing out on an opportunity.  My eyes reflect the simultaneous temperament of a puppy and a volcano, but they can be so filled with love and peace.  These candles allow for dancing shadows that reveal shifting caricatures in an otherwise still face.  The eyes can appear golden as others are in their being.  The being can have an aura of healing that is palpable.  The psyche of a boy plays hide and seek with the shadows rather than living free in all instances.  Bandages become irrelevant after enough time behind the wheel rather than with toes submerged in the white sands beneath a palm.  What does this all mean?  Is rambling a sign of chaos or am I simply still searching for the one who will help me lay the pollished stones across the beach.  Can you read between the tides?  There are so many developments taking place in the photos snapped by the mind.  So many sound clips echo in the poetry of the soul.  Will you go on this journey of a lifetime?  What do you pack for such an event?  Or, is it better to leave all baggage behind, and gather your wants and needs along the way?  I extend my hand into the thick air longing for cooler environs in the thin places this world has to offer.  If you would like we can create our own world anew that is within this one we’ve grown up with.  A world in which dreams are commended, not belittled.  A world in which women and men can play as girls and boys in the rain, laughing as they get wet and closing their eyes simply so they can imagine the pattern of stars before them.  Help me light the way to our world and paddle with me.  I will wipe the sawdust from my eyes and look for the spark that is within you.  It may feel faded or subdued at times, but it is there.  It helps light my way home at times.  Perhaps we met in another life in another world and have unfinished business.  Perhaps we never met before but should have.  Perhaps we won’t ever truly meet.  We who can traverse the universe in song and each other in laughter.  This heart has much to give, and gets bigger with every spark it finds along the way.  It is my hope to have a connection, unlike the internet,  that is never timed out.  But rather, grows and grows and grows such that the horizon itself is jealous of its breadth, the sea is jealous of its depth, the starry night is envious of its height, and the apple of the King’s eye longs for its core.  I whisper a brief ‘I love you’ and though no one will hear or know or care, I still smile and close my eyes.


Being heard, stirred, and perhaps cured by life's many hidden images and the written-spoken word.
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