The Poem – Framing Words


Pass in dusty ledges
Fingers trace mottled wood
And stop.

Breath a frame
By frame
Spoken forever
Fall into the shape
Traced, held in wood
In mottled fingers,
Side by side moving breath
To breathe, in
Breaths motion picture
Framing words.


The Dream

There is a way we find our stance
Not in the dusk nor dawn
In open plains nor mountain tops
In oceans roar nor forests call

There is a way we find our space
Our place, our peace, our grace
In days, in weeks, in years that pass
In minutes, seconds, still we breathe

No ones face, nor paths we trace
No words wise and serene
Not in the song, the dancers step
Nor the artists dream

It’s simply, just,
In ‘we’ not ‘me’.