A notebook bulletin board
tacked on when randomly bored
applied thoughts in a scribblebook
open for the world to look who passes by
so fast to see like a needle in a haystack we
safely stash those innermost secrets thought to be
at least you see languishing up and into pristine
blossoms for you to pick and sniff and hope
they don't make you sick.

3/20/20

[a page from old notes]

We see the sun's image
cast from far ago & long away,
but the light took this long
to get to our eye so what
we actually see IS NOT DEAD
OR LONG AGO GONE it
is that final LIVING IMAGE
that is still ALIVE.

WE MUST COME AFTER
the stars in the sky.

They see the light of our Sun
as it was a million years ago.
so, stars are nothing but
old silent films; and suns
are living current entities.


~ end note ~

More apparently by a star's old light
can we see what we really are at night


image courtesy of NASA in the public domain


When you twist around and look behind to catch a glimpse of what you are 
And wish upon a terrible blind and shattered star to get re-knit and travel back
To a dream of old when shadows thrown by candle lit docks haunted our walks
Late at night in the woods on a lone cold mountain under moonlight in the wind
Out in the wild lucid stillness gracing the eye of the storm focused right on you 
Staring back in its face locked pupils reflecting each other across infinite space 
Completing a circuit repeatedly in time and weaving a spiraling loop in a rhyme
With the rhythm of blossoming open mutations starred adrift in evolution's wink
Do you get a thrilling sensation of wonder crawling up and around your own spine
Realizing in a moment of unforgettable awe that's the tail end of the singular aura
That can only be said to be yours and mine spread across this universe we've found
Won't ever be borrowed for sometime tomorrow because the past and future don't exist
Only this present unfolding moment rolling on in the spectrum of our electric dreams
Can possess us fully to reconsider flexing the fingers of our body in a glove without seams
Not worn by anything other than what it is that we happen to be here at the moment
Conjuring metaphors in alphabetical code to flash the signals and move down the road