Be as you are
beneath the layers of seeming,
where spring water runs in your veins,
and diamonds are just dreams,
intangible as music of the moon
and the storm’s scream.
Don’t do, not yet, there’s more.
All things wax and wane
life ephemeral as the purple hue at sunset
as wind trembling poplar leaves
rain-whisper and the moist brush of mist.
Time gathers all back
into the first cradle of beauty
blood bone sadness and joy
and the hope of creation.