Boxes of Time
6.6.15 (Pasadena)
one Saturday morning, I decided
to still the mind
escape out of it
simply feel the warmth
the faint scent, the touch
the night left behind.
where does touch
begin and end?
what creates the feel,
the sensation of being?
where does the spirit lie?
between the warmth caught
tangled in each sigh
every crease and fold
and puffing movement
skipping around.
where does the spirit lie?
as it sought the whisper
of the stillness locked inside.
tugging a piece, a piece of the
resting heart.
the mind started to awake
the spirit with outstretched arms
reached out in a big embrace
as when wings sprout behind your back.
the exhilaration of the
quiet freedom
for a moment, to be still
to touch and feel, free
of the old, the mind, the day
marching in cadence, creating
boxes of time.
the unraveling is set
for tomorrow
for hundreds of tomorrows
such beauty is cast.
the exhilaration of the moment
of the tiniest puff of wind
of the smallest sigh
and the slightest touch
the faintest whisper
of the mind.
where does the spirit lie?
the exhilaration
of the anticipated.
one Saturday morning, I decided
to spring out of the hazy night
break open the light, let it tingle
shake every nerve, fill me
for the anticipated has arrived.
and I, I am filled to the brim
my boxes of time
deeply nurtured,
aged and seasoned
the anticipated has arrived.