Allan Morelock, April 13, 2007
© 2010 Allan Morelock
Having listened to the language of stones,
As they speak of sitting in the soil
To those who sparkle the sky.
Now I long to breathe the fragrance
Of a thousand dancing petals,
Who keep the bird rhythms
Where I lie.
Each an article of this
I call myself,
A symbol
And far more.
Sitting like memories
In my living view,
Stereophonic senses,
Multi dimensional,
Co-reflecting the inner-scape,
That lies just beneath
All labels of conceptual
Recognition blocking
The eternal new.
That fine joy
Known only to children,
Lurks there for those
Whose minds
Are less at ease
In the normal platitudes
Of political correction,
That end with thanks
And start with please.
Prior to the intent to fix
Or change
Or delegate,
No charge incurred
On the credit card
Of nature’s open
Catalog.
No skill learned
And earned by studies
From a book
Is required for the thrill
Ever waiting there
Just at the edge
Of all that is still.