Balancing, not so delicately,

on the heads of seven pins

I wake in the middle of the night

dazed by the hurrying of the sun and the moon through the sky.


Somewhere there is an open field

where the seeds of tall grasses live out their days

in dialogue with dew and stars,

Cicada legs thrumming the air

a stillness held in their cadence,

Where fire flies lace the leaves of trees in encircling forests

inscribing their delicate electrical tracings of desire,

a lit calligraphy of … hello, come see me

I am aflame with light


Somewhere there is an open field within me

amidst the deep woods of words 

the impregnable tall trees of thought

a vast silence of living

wrapt entirely in wonder