For 15, 23

Today,

Two years ago

To this day,

I drove away

For good

has never sounded

So Appropriate

Into fate

As it were, 

As it would be

Left behind

Behind me

Now,

I drive on paved paths

In the dark

Streets

only silver linings

Guide 

The way.

Photo by Author Kelly Sikkema, Unsplash title 'As far as you can see' Dated 13 January 2017, Location: Fenton, United States

Pace

Around the mountain
The way to proceed sideways
Looking at the rocks.
*
Loosen the rein
the heavens unlock in gasp
exhaling hail.
*
Each step taken
is a charge
without receipt.
*
Certain of what we
do not want and cannot take
our bags bulge with These.
*
Lighten with laughter
Serum of Sun, what is done
is never complete.



Artist Unknown, 'Pavillions in a mountain landscape' c. 1550 in the Philadelphia Museum of Art [Public domain].

Hiding faces

Once stabilized-we could then be reminded of how fragile
the required tension taut us to be
and to react with white gloves, as pallbearers
and with two hands for beginners- cradling the whole
as a complex system, which blurs and softens sharp connections
so it may be held.
But the etching on her body, overall
scars showed those nasty inclinations,
she had to write it out in masonry, chipping in at the impenetrable castle,
where kings tried to hide rule with heavy brute paws.

There were others, outside, they were callously shooting arrows at her place-
those all loaded with poison tips are arched in equipoise-
as in heat seeking entropy.
Fear could not move her out of
The Way.
The wind picked up her scent,
Something is dying in a dark corner, over there-
It is freeing itself from form
inside its dwelling of singularity. Invoking a greater depth,
at last she lingers over this.

What sounds like whimpering is the art of her inflection.
The walls were caulked thick and swelling.

None heard her screams at the point
when the knife went in.
They all looked down at their toes,
wondering where they had been going...

Alas, there was none left to ask.
None had seen anyone pass through.
Long forgotten, the woman picks up a stick and tosses it
back into the bone pile.
Familiar with the general vicinity,
she knows every stone has a name and point.
Of Origin. And this,

is how mountains are moved. 

Painting by By Richards, Albert [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. "At the Village of La Plein- There was constant watch for snipers hidden in the village, 1944".

A-flow-T

It was up-side-down-which
is not up There
is no up-any-way
that the dhow
knew the way the wind blew
and grabbed it as the how
to get There
the Tao
and even keel held bronze pins in place
on the starboard to cease and assist
sunken ships weight and wait
with least resistance finding that
flow
feels easy like you know
down pat what is
up
either way anyway
if you don't flow
with it
you'll never know
smooth sailing up-on destiny's dhow.




Image of painting by By Maxwell, Donald [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

A Charming Third Time

She reached out, compelled
to place her hand on the spinning wheel.
She trembled toward the blur,
despite the risk, she was unable to resist.

She stopped it on an arrow
whose two points of infinity
changed direction in the light,
no two rays the same color.

She drew back and it spun again
wildly as if it had never stopped.
She noticed the colors blending
but never overlapping the white between.

She looked around to see if anyone else
saw, or had seen the giant wheel
before her, spinning on its own accord
humming in its smooth momentum.

Alone and reckless,
she tried to touch it again,
this time to only grab the blue
but landed her hand on an arrow.

She knew the symbols well,
circles, arrows, points of interest, color codes
but could not decipher the definitions-
clearly, each stood for something.

She watched its speed grow
the longer she waited to ask again,
the more dangerous the choices became
even though they always stayed the same.

She closed her eyes and flung her weight
toward the wheel, groping for anything solid
finding herself on an arrow
not knowing how to hold on, she let go.

She watched the wheel whirl,
murmuring about momentum.
She heard one of the 64 arrows
call her name and whisper, The Way.



Image By Internet Archive Book Images [No restrictions], via Wikimedia Commons. East of the Sun West of the Moon, 1922.