The wind ripples across my back,
and sunlight paints my depths with golden streaks.
In this delicious moment of sound, light, and flow,
I fear the clouds will soon close in and end
my holy celebration on this remote autumn morning.
In time, I’ll change my shape to fit the long quiet night.
and dream of things I’ll never tell the sky
in deep winter sleep.
Water
I like that poem, Eric. A good effort to imagine what (say) a lake might be thinking. –Bill
Thanks, Bill. It was nice to imagine the experience. Best, –Eric
Fun poem, anthropomorphizing a lake. Unique. Especially interesting in relating to clouds, which block light but bring sustenance.
Thanks, Kevin. As I was writing it, I realized how closely humans experience the same things. Then I thought about how we’re around 60% water and laughed a little. Best! –Eric
This is one hell of a poem, capturing the uncapturable, the joy of pure being and the ever present knowledge of its impending change into pure not-being. Maybe they’re the same thing, eh?
Yes. I think it has to do with the beauty of non-duality captured in immediate experience. Thank you, Malcolm. –Eric