Wiggling
Shifting in the chair
I inched closer to a thought
I had lost
I think it was your voice
Tinkling
Calling my brain
to a soft place I loved
Where birds spoke to me
And I wrote poetry in a closet
You always
Lift me on clouds of philosophy
And contemplative wings
Where I drift
Closer to my creativity
And hear my own voice.
In the Morning Light
There is a gesture
touching spring today
I worship the energy
that spills over me
watch the sunlight
walking in the trees
lathering the future
in this feeling.
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