In Thy DewPoint
( gListening )
from The View, I rest for a Moment, with My Hands upon the Age-worn
oaken Beam which stands, for Ever, as The Rail of Sighs, and I watch
The Flow of The River below Me, steadfast and resolute, in It’s Path
across The Sky . . .
endless rhythmic Undulations reveal It’s Passage upon the mighty
Pilings, driven Deep, into It’s Sacred Heart, leaving darkened
Rings on Each wooden Face, as if to mark the eternal Rise,
and Fall of Men . . .
and There, playfully drifting upon It’s liquid Glass, like errant
Children, yet graced with a certain Purpose, a delicate Intimacy
with The River Itself, deftly pirouetting along The Bridge of Time,
come The Leaves . . .
and, before Silence could say A Word, and before When could find
The Reason for Because, I heard a quiet Hush of Voices, lifting Up
from Each and Every Leaf, a brilliant Tapestry of Sound, Colors of
Every Hue and Cry, A Myriad of Joyous Tidings, of A Grand and
Glorious New Day . . .
from Book III, The Diamond ( Third Beginning ) The Twelfth DoveTale – The Symphony of Moments