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| Veins of the world reach up to heaven |
in this city tonight as the
tornadoes are impending and
the sky has given up its full moon.
I have the windows open to either
avoid the crashing of windows
or to feel the storm come inside
to become part of me.
While the maelstrom boils
my heart sits here, content finally,
and wants nothing more than a kind word,
if even that.
I am a transparent eye
through which all things do,
or can, flow unimpeded.
And I can feel the cleansing
spirit of the night, or
this time of the year, as
I ask another questions without
asking that question to you,
and you do not hear the question
or you do, but choose not to answer.
Am I talking to myself? or is there
an echo in this place where I sit alone.
I look on the face of God tonight,
the face of that full moon, and think
of sacrificial stuffed-animal lambs,
and even more, the spiritual awakening.
A coming whole in the middle of a tempest
in a teacup, as I want nothing more, and
I want everything. My mind can pause as
the blood pours over me.
I become washed in that blood.
I feel free. Tomorrow
will be sunshine. I will flash
this crooked smile upward toward you
as you hover there glowing, beautiful, and complete.
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