Slight of sky shifted the stars once again,
seems there is a gesture being drawn across this western sky.
Once the only light were the stars
so we changed with the moon and dressed for the sun.
Stars pleasure a mystery senses
then place our aura back inside our body.
Take some timelessness with an evening that wishes us to gaze.
This voluptuous myth.
alive inside our tide of being.
Child of our sky, take a few winks.
Seems there’s a drawing across this evening sky.
this shimmering pitch of evening the stars again waver
Seems there is a gesture being drawn across this western sky
Once the only light were the stars
we changed with the moon,
dressed for the sun.
Warm inside, following a breath approaching twilight
Cold outside, shimmering beckons a warmth away
This attire which stars pleasure mysteriously
Senses placed back inside your body
take timelessness, an evening wishing a gaze
this voluptuous myth, alive inside our tide of being
Once we changed with the moon,
our sky take many winks dressed for the sun,
Seems there is a drawing across twinkling sky.
Imagine this earth before any living today can speak of.
It is the elements that have always been.
Mountains eroding slowly to the beach as grains of sand.
Imagine this earth as it was before.
When the air has an unrealized fragrance .
When birds awoke to the same sun, nightingales sang lullabies under a moonlit sky.
Waves washed ashore seeding another beachhead with treasures from a distant land.
The stars in the skies were farther.
Life moved with this rhythm becoming with the dark then waking with light reaching into the blue .
And here I sit writing a thought of spirit not a philosophy.
There were eclipses seen by the tall grasses, they seeded back into their earth, their meadow sent a collective wave of colour to an evening of stars.
Then somewhere a lake reflecting a world speaks of the rain~ memory of being taken inside by the tongue quenching a thirst then purring through emerald eyes under a canopy sky, full of stars.
Sighing, the lake reflects another sentient piece of earth skyward.
And here, we are in wonder of what remains encoded.
In our bodies, as memories, finding another that understands, gifting a puzzle piece into your palms.
This picture familiar so clear mercurial and alive. Goosebumps rise when we sigh into a starry night .
Stillness became a dream rendered, twined, soft as the silk cocoon of memories, evocative. Lingers as lucid pulses within a dream, peeling the crisp outside apart from an inside wet warmness emerging moth like from the chrysalis of sleep. Vast here souls learn to last, tide cast upon this starry shore after sunlight becomes nights breath reaching to the stars.
Fireflies don’t know they exist till after the night sparkles.
As the dawn peeled back the skin of dreams, kindness of a memory whispers feline names that graced this life, memories of each cat gazing at the moon dreaming of a saucer of cream. Siamese took me into the tide of a swirling night, it took me forever to catch the moment of static tide, caught in the between before being pulled into the ocean of dream.
Once again another night fills the sky starry, sometimes overcast yet a knowing the gaze of constellations still spill beckoning to all under a sky that dreams earth infinitely. It is the firefly pulling close to my breath as I gaze into the shore pooling with stars , this capsule of night is swallowed whole, entering as a jaguar quenching a lucid dream in which fireflies know they exist under a canopy of stars.
When shadows feign upon grounds once ruled by the sun ,new moon recalls with higher stars what always remains of the suns glow. This quarter season waits, stories are told, starry are these skies of winter. Seen are the breaths escaping bodies to the planets
This quarter season beauty coming from within winter, evening tone, a vespertine array of sentient stars remember, sun climes beyond alabaster sky hidden, a ritual unstoppable, takes time away, an internal strobe flickering moments, still pictures in the album of your mind on a wheel turning, this sol system like an eddy of water turning slowly drawn round and round beside the shore of this galactic river.
this evening inner warmth,
beneath such crystalline shimmering stars.
pulsing exhale of a thought taken by a chilly breeze.
A whisper, a story once again, beheld within earths being.
Moon comes milky seeding evening east glow.
Crimson mars, dolphin to the ship of the moon,
together sky the western side of night stream.
Somewhere inside a memory today
I watched clouds holding the aqua blue sky hostage,
forever in my moments gaze.
Sometimes I hear a voice that beckons away another reality.
later guides my breath back to the sky.
this mind becomes pictured, drawn the moments
palette of sky thoughtless now,
a soul remains like a spiral shell
cast upon this shore shimmering
This spell dose of beauty.
this dormant place the awoken inside wonder,
remains of trails twine like our fingers braided pulse
recall that once thoughts placed mind into letters,
treasured away inside a forgotten star box,
whose legs carved form an anima to the constellations
Inside where butterflies talk,
pattern new to wolf spider tracing what the clouds were doing,
her glisten of silk a line patterned a touch closer.
Thought became the evenings trunk of the giant oak,
that leans upward to the stars.
that whispered my mind,
to how they hold the stars into earth.
Awaking from dream inside an opening eye, this place between, floating upon the sea of sleep, yet not released from the cocoon of sleep. Immediate echo of an etherial song bird, pronouncing a sunlight justly. Listened to this before, this prescience of thought catches up, gathering the decades which this bird remembered, holding a songs memory, a clarity of notes piercing dawn. For the sunrise is ancient, just a stream of moments, this is another melody timeless.
Raindrops sing like a tide does coming ashore, listen just to their descending chorus. For every drop of rain once was in your body, each half of infinity rained together gave many lifetimes to remember you have been here before and before and before. Here you listen to held memories on the song of rain, a spell timeless, together with the red beak of memory and the subtle chime of rainfall. For this dawn is ancient, awash of moments inside the melody of timelessness.
Taste your lovers tear, awakened by the etherial song bird, be carried to a salty ocean shore when placed to your lips. Each drop down the cheek holds a capsule of memory, a microcosm of lifetimes.
Stories told that once spiraled glass vials were crafted to hold the salty tears of happiness and pools of rainwater held exotic fishes that would pollinate the flowers that bent near the surface. Where the sunrise is ancient and the etherial bird sings of another stream of moments.
There is no good night.
below a moon that is hidden by the horizon.
there was a shadow near, spilled from this quarter moon
uncurling her crescent bowl filling evening cool within a selene glow, suspended slow motion of every passing star cluster.
There must be names, none living today can place into words.
No voices to speak this past, memory will cast moons light,
shadows animate minds spellbound upon this earthly shore,
this bowl of a quarter moon, fashioned from opaline materials of earth.
Vespertine dews filled this bowl, an microcosm ancient symbol of earth etched then blended upon the bowl holding a moon
of liquid rippling the mirroring stars reflecting into the half moon cupped in your palms.
Mercurial the waxing crescent that cast light into shadow,
gesture of infinity quenches a thirst as earth tilts the bowl.
moon dresses the horizon, sewn lapis sky pinned beside her tinted rim.
here dreams sleep, stitch of shadows swirls round,
memories liquid as clouds.
horsetails clouds that circle a stirring sky
held timeless entranced upon the bowl of a quarter moon
becoming the gazer that wonders.
There is no good night to the sleepless.
here only night and day play a lullaby
with a moon setting vespertine shadow of dreams.
For if we sleep :
convince our souls to fall and rise deeply inside this bowl of the moon . beauty will ride a winged horse spurred from the wisps
of twilight clouds, gathering dreamers to ride to the milky way.
There is no word for good night.
just a lullaby of anima nocturnal.
a bowl turned from earthly stone,
filled with a moon cycles of dew.
hands cupped warming upon a surface of stars.
for theres no sleep for the dreamer.
It’s dark outside ~
stars are woven in sky, so if we can still our minds just enough, our heart is heard.
Liquid like rain falling from the sky,
onto the trees sliding closer to rocky precipice grooved by memories.
Once shared twice till thrice cared,
while this heart of the sky replenishes her cauldron.
From lands far away and near,
like a lucid inhale in slow motion.
We see as streams in an transparent pallet colouring sky,
butterflies devour a secret place,
when a steady rain awakens the colour of earth.
Where their wings translucent glisten like raindrops shed,
quivering wings silken cupping the canopy ribboning,
which release an acorn like an emerald polished stone,
with no thought but rain sliding down a memory of sky.