Soaring Hedges Heights ablaze in god-fed passion. Wild whispered wisdom not-yet mortal. Ancient meadows, bathed lovers with serene ages not human... and we who stand on peaks cloud hidden may glimpse a gusting, time-interrupted remnant of another sun filled glory that is not our sun, our time, but draws us up towards a day yet to be... ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Gathering together within we move sometimes apart, sometimes mingled but always we move together. We who are not yet the murmur of leave's praise for wind or morning shadows setting the world afire with renewed hope. We who dance together silently with words filling the night with songs. Once we delight, I knew a place, we were a place. I hear the places we were and are and will be. Even the place where our songs have ceased, the place that knows us no more, especially that place, moves with our inner delight. Our laughter reverberates in sun-filled cathedrals and finds crevices we know not. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Arising alone I retrace these dancing paths that converge as "me-here". A rushing wind in darkness rises and falls as gestures which find no voice. Lightening from awe-spilled stars - signs, a place of kindredness, reconstituting and deconstituting as moments that coalesce through wildly varying spaces. Receding from echoless abyss, 'I' crashes in thunderous waves gathering themselves from the moment of death. A tumultuous swell throws itself toward lunar rhythms freeing spirit as lighted mists yet crashing through temporal sands and dispersing. Then, this moment which releases all other moments, this stillness which overflows itself towards anticipation of movement. A pause. Fluidtious stirring, not yet amnesic, resonates with all deaths of tragedy. This moment when worlding rests and glittering silence gurgles through the ambiguity of things.