White Washed Walls

What is this

that I trust my soul

to be carried in a hand

covered by a cloud

of the unknowing

but knowingly–my heart

has an eye

and I can see again

I can see the currents

passing underneath

deep and blue

blue and deep

never had there been

such deep waters,

As I smile

with a golden tear

like an eggshell


and rolling down my face–

Oh, to see oneself

for the first time

to see the glimmering

depths of stars

bright and silver

exploding and magnifying

like lava–

Oh, the precious stars

the billions and trillions

of lights

all underneath the water

hanging like seaweed

as I am rolled

for the first time

and there,

like a seashell

for the first time

I found symmetry

a pattern

for what–I am truly alive

and grateful

that I had slept so long

in the slumbers

and chambers

of the heart’s unknowing


A secret cloud finds me there

for the first time

and for the last time

I am caught restless

yet still

for a feeling has it–

I am believing

I am relentless

I am unselfish

I am loving

I am by no name

I am the living dead


with good pain

for the very first time.


Desert of my dreams

a perfect flatness

on the horizon

where moon and sun

kiss into a midday twilight,

an ivory silk follows–

I remember seeing it

and holding its pattern

in my mind,

the dryness

an arctic bloom

filled with orange canyons,

and sand

white sand

the luscious sand we sleep on,

a resolute–

Where cacti rise

to the sun’s slumber

like red lanterns

with sketches of animals

on the outside,

they are filled

with flames

like strange myths

like ancient dragons–

And the isolated,

the fireflies

take over

the darkness

like darkness was never there

and never will be