Textured

Our lives
textured by our moments we share
layered in beauty
we hold out our empty hands
knowing more will find us
heaped to overflowing,
shared with all in need.
Dreams of abundance filter through,
giving rise to our greatest wishes
blowing on the seeds
drifting on the wayward wind,
settling in the depths
as barren fields wait patiently
for our fertile thoughts to grow.
What matters as we surface
in cracks and fissures we find it all
dreaming in aimless moments,
textured in our magnificence
we are the living art
of the creator.

Bowl of memory

Running fingers on smooth edges
dipping in to the emptiness to find
the dust of faded thoughts and memories
lingering just out of reach.
Smooth blue skies call to the waking soul,
walking in unison to the mornings first breath
as dew hangs on air
cool breeze ruffles cotton playfully,
slipping its fingers whisper-like in
to touch the skin
easing the fire.
Round in circles like birds in flight
floating on clouds they slip on air
and I rehearse the mantra of a new day
from pages studied with a feverish need
dipping into the bowl of memories
to wash clean.
Empty and spotless
the inhale and exhale of yesterday,
letting it slip from existence to new form,
invisible waves gather and I watch
through wake and sleep as the tides rush out
taking away I find the peace,
truth and trust
my release.