underground streams

There are these moments

On the edge or verge of no thing that

The strivings of some tentacle of vast beginnings

Reaches through

Something of the senses

Like an eye or ear

Emerges from the surface tension

Touched by gestures of this

Line of all beginnings

Thinned and stretched or timed

In rhyme

One might hear faint fierce whispers

Of the sighs sent to the moon

A lover’s swoon

In chorus here beneath the sigh of waves...

Mere mortals make this sacred sound

The sound that like the bard

Tells all

And hopes there is the ear

Of our reflection

One Beloved

Close to earth

With ear to ground

Listening for tremors of the heart

Someone who just might


All the secret names of God

We’ve whispered it with lips to ocean’s edge

All foam and froth

And clever smiles

We’ve whispered it against the shores

While grains of sand clung to our face and hair

In sweet abandon

Oh yes…and softer whispers as the flame rose

Bleaching burning derma up the spine

Soft grace

The spiral place

And now returning to the forest of the mind

My lips

Parched dry ...

The blessed thirst remains

And with these lips

……a kiss

Upon the bark

the bark with brine of sea air

Cloaked in fog

And worship as we may

...we may

So as to

Merge with matter

At the alter of a single oak