Own Up

I witness a waitress stand stock still
as her guests leave their table and,
just before they turn the corner,
she bows to their retreating backs,
because her respect has a rhythm all
of its own.

I witness water play catch with moonlight
on the trees trailing over a hot spring,
helping me back to when I saw
the world split in two, as a mask
hummed a golden helix wrought from
sodium lamps and mad imagination,
both realities held in mind without
trying to merge them or find meaning,
because they have a rhyme all
of their own.

I witness dattatreya come dancing back,
watch our white-blossomed tree bloom again,
though this time the throne stays empty,
grown over with soft grass as it stands watch
over endless oceans,
and his heart beats a name beyond
remembrance of its own

into the empty space between time.
Here to tell of god’s fierce gentleness
and all who have gone before
to be shown this grace and glory
in how they forgot and were forgiven
for the roles they wrote
to help us realise this truth:

There is no god,
but God.

Traces

Live for another day

Another trinity