Friday, November 24, 2017

Skimming



Skimming along the surface--
Face seeking the sun--
A moment hangs.
A thought crystallized.
The heart beats.
The tongue dissolves.
This.
This place.
This place in time.
This breath.
This crack in the sidewalk.
Will it receive intention?
"Talk to Me," the God-Voice says.
Skip over? Peer into?
Let words tumble?
Hold my breath?

No comments:

NO weapon EVERY tongue

I got derailed in a transcription recently when the speaker declared, "No weapon formed against us will prosper!" I went on a rabb...