"words pour out of my fingertips painting morning into the garden, doves floating, their warm feathered grace filling the cups of my eyes, overflowing, colors spill through the windows melting my reflection, the grey cat dreams, I can feel his heart beat… a mirage of empty fades into bottomless echoes, oscillating into reflections of moon floating on endless oceans…
my heart was sucked out by the tides, I was drowned, …dissolved in waves of moon songs, not even my nakedness was left… and I find my self spilling into these songs that dance me on to empty beaches as I wait for your heartbeat to find mine, so we can float, together, in this sensuous ballet of lost and found moon.
~~~~~
is the poem in the flower or is the flower in the poem?
petaled softness unfurls your heart into a song of elegant tendrils stretching into sky, …hidden thorns pierce and rip your skin into prayers echoing in dusty temples crumbling under the weight of sky, falling, …the heaviness and lightness of joy and sorrow, and love, a deep underlying roar that consumed you long ago when you were waiting to hear the next song…"
~~ Nancy Neithercut
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