There is this place
in you, ongoing,
where you are welding a triumphant statue into a feminine
spire,
glass blowing a forever sunset of a view,
shoeing wild horses to run on
into the uninhabited sky with the wind,
painting with a single hair brush, a
spider web to catch droplets of mist,
assembling a ship in a bottle, piece by
piece, to toss into the sea,
just for its journey of self,
preening an
invisible golden eagle’s wings specifically for new moon night flights,
raking
brightly colored fall leaves into a heaven of a mountain’s overview,
playing
magical drums with fingers that come out of your soul to do so.
I spy on that
place within you,
where all of this simultaneously occurs.
I take small pieces
of self permission and the wisdom of emptiness from you
by these means of
observation you have offered me.
There is this place in you ongoing.
It has a
wood-burning stove of self-love.
Trees lay down their lives to be of your
assistance.
Delight seeps through from your inner silence by your presence
shared.
I have no memory of any of this.
It is always freshly in the moment for
me to first person spy on that place within you.
You have gifted me with that
entry.
My life, going forward, always has this playing somewhere within me
as
I am now allowed to be within that sacred space,
ongoing as you . . .
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