Saturday, November 23, 2013

still

Leaves have stopped falling
As we are in the pause of hours . . .
Poised & inhaling the richness of change
Crisp earth cut with the sharp copper of snow lies on my tongue
As the warrior song lands upon my lips & I swallow it's dissonant thrum
Attempting to find grace where there is hollowness
Struggling to step thru into a new place of right
Relinquishing the steel-need, or at least the appearance of . .
Slipping into the armor of always
As I open my arms to the day & the taste of balance
Finding the movement startlingly familiar
I dance to the grey and the fire

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