Friday, July 18, 2003


Bathed in a black green cool shade

beneath an intense midsummer sun

a lone gull cry bids attentive skyward glance.

Searing white shapes

with black tipped wings

weave a magical dance

breathlessly disappearing

as suddenly as the opening cry,

into an infinite cloudless blue.

The disarming gentle breeze

lifts ideas and scatters them

to the ground.

As I gather fallen thoughts

being as careful at the beginning

as at the end,

the voice behind the wall whispers:

“The way is to the world

as the river and sea

are to rivulets and streams -

darkly visible.”

With that

I blunt the sharpness,

untangle the knots

and soften the glare.