I sit on a black cushion
if the electric pulses I feel
are lightbody healers
transmuting energy through the crevices
we have created
with our breaths
to make us whole again.
I rest my head on a pillow
if the infinite impulses I feel
are silver starseed-pods
traveling through the spaces
we have scattered
with our monkey mind
to make us live again.
Particles of Light
You awaken to the sun’s warmth
while I shed my threadbare skin
underneath the full moon and wait
for the red-crowned crane to take flight.
I falter through the autumn leaves
while you retreat atop a mountain
and embark on your winter journey
seeking pure water in a venerable shell.
Maybe we can tip-toe into a forgotten corner
and spin the strings of the three fates
to reveal the very first snowflake
that fell from the sky.
Maybe we can excavate the gears of gravity
and search for the scraps of a dusty pendulum
that expands in an empty room
to form particles of light.