Poetry

The Dreamer

To dream
Is to stand at the Gate of Creation,
arms akimbo, one foot planted firmly
at the Edge of Eternity.
The other foot solidly moored
In the Patterns of Reality.
Your body humming with the Eternal Dichotomy of advancement
and retreat as one’s life proceeds
to the warm, unknowable embrace of non-being.

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A Drawer Full of Oranges

Sliding forward, upward pucker
soft and fresh, pore
to first slick of spring dew.

An ancient etymology.
Syllables underfoot
unfolding across continents,
thousand-year scroll unscraped,
each overwritten character
layering through, spelling new words
with old ink,

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