Like the honey morning rain
that trickles down my throat,
I have an all-teeth smile
for those who live
on the edges of the world-
straddling a false movement,
without any belief.
I breathe in and out of sequence,
sometimes golden
as my director sun
and mostly contemplative blues
as sky reflect ocean's mind.
But sometimes I weave
creative genes,
and become a hush
of spearmint-colored
leaves of dew.
{only when my eyes
are sparked by love's sight}
And with silence I listen
to the rush of wings,
inhaling apple crisp air-
a carefree wish
to trace light across
dark, threatening lands.
