Sweet to your lips , the nectar of the stars for we are in our bodies because of earthy souls that gaze into a reflective pool higher than the veil of day to pierce to the stars , till evening rest upon our weary bones and we take these stars as sweet nectar filling in what modern distraction has eroded away .
Train horn deeply awakes this evening,
this mind theaters like a picture book,
inside pictures roll slowly reeling, turn like a toy kaleidoscope.
Bare tones root tendrils deep, while an evening is
rising to the audience of stars.
There is a creamy smoothness around.
along side my moon shadow stirs,
silently and kindred is love, this dark aroma of night.
I saw pictures curve from a bend of a page,
inside frozen for a second and captured forever,
there the jaguar caught pacing inside a cage.
Three pelicans remembered by the shore
waiting for a California rain.
It is this moonlight stillness waxing shadow,
Opening a pouch, seeing contents spill from fingertips, to earth thankful that each flake glistens,
We are touched by the light of the moon.
A breath of smoke drifts always upward,
like the mirror of a rock wiggling through the shallow water finding bottom.
Somewhere between a surface reflecting.
And now a memory of the train horn
stretching like this milky moonlight,
under a dome of stars.