Imaginary World

Sometimes the roaring inside flares into chattering,

Chattering wild birds gather into a flock of

forest fire reds, oranges and flames of yellow.

Bird's scorched feathers, hot beating breasts

spit sparks of mental heat

into a curtain of 

steady 

falling 

snow.

Breath inhales silence.

Breath exhales burnt ghosts.

A portal is suspended in the 

dripping stillness of the air.

Wild mind clears as

dark river gods 

penetrate the orchestra

of birds and fire and trees.

With a singular finger a

dark opening is carved 

into the earth

and we surrender our

bodies fully to an

inner landscape.

Time folds open 

to expose our 

own beautiful sadness.

Spirals of deep blue rivers

swirl in intricate patterns

as earth spins on 

her axis and 

welcomes

us home.

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