Releasing Illusions From The Shore
Creation’s sand sifted from our hands—
clutched for a moment by gravity
as it flowed, streaming silently,
to settle —in small scattered piles within us.
Thought and mood changes from grain to grain.
Perils and adventures rise and fall—
again and again from one position to the next.
All things change us—
All pleading for illusions un-hooded truth—
Only a mindful soul in peaceful acceptance
Prepares the meeting room table
for each sunset, for each full moon, for each new sunrise—
Guests are encouraged to speak
with innocence and understanding
as they… the children are;
where they become the sand—
Released from the creation of their hands.
(In silence, I mourn Creation’s loss, from above…
there is not a child born, that does not —seek our love).
From sand to diminishing pottery, my soul pours out the last of life.
It’s existence to non-existence, in remembrance
—of holding its last grain of sand.