The palm at the end of the mind, beyond the last thought, rises in the bronze distance. A gold feathered bird sings in the palm, without human meaning, without human feeling, a foreign song. You know then that it is not the reason that makes us happy or unhappy.
The bird sings. Its feathers shine. The palm stands on the edge of space. The wind moves slowly in the branches. The bird's fire-fangled feathers dangle down.

Sunday, December 16, 2007

the essence

Turquoise
Donovan

Your smile beams like sunlight on a gull's wing
And the leaves dance and play after you.
Take my hand and hold it as you would a flower.
Take care with my heart, oh darling, she's made of glass.
Your eyes feel like silence resting on me
And the birds cease to sing when you rise.
Ride easy your fairy stallion you have mounted.
Take care how you fly, my precious, you might fall down.
In the pastel skies the sunset I have wandered
With my eyes and ears and heart strained to the full,
I know I tasted the essence in the few days.
Take care who you love, my precious, he might not know.
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