"Delayed by poetry.
Detained by beauty.
To miss the proverbial fast train
while tangled in the arms of the Beloved
on a foggy morning...
To be detained by building
secret altars in the forest
held by the urgent call
to abandon gems and doodles
and poems written on mud
and shrines made of sticks
leaves and rabbit poop
Witnessed only by the trees
the occasional crafty squirrel
and the always curious crow...
I'll take that delay anytime.
The scenic route of Love.
Oh, to keep the radical
stubbornness of Beauty
in a world of blatant violence
...in spite of the crimson flower
that keeps bleeding within the chest
through that poorly stitched
chamber of the heart
...In spite of the echoes of hopeless carnage
that taint the silence on the sweet horizon.
May my hands keep dropping art-i-facts
as flowers drop their petals
undressing for no one in particular
May my lips drop their poetry
just as rain, not choosing where she falls...
May I be delayed by poetry
may I be detained by beauty
may I exist at this,
my deliberate rhythm
a slow dance of gliding feathers
over fading thoughts
a cadence of pensive snails
circling around my neck
the stoic stance of sleeping rocks
offering a tacit gift of solid kindness...
May I leave a wake of secret crumbs of light
wherever my feet take me on this Earthly walk
that is flesh on clay
but truly
mud on mud..."

© LUNA