Speck by Speck

Overcast sky, a cemetery angel in the rain.

Tulip petals stay bound to one another like the way I imagine a lover's embrace – softly held yet the need to be closer.

A study of love knots leads to the inquiry of whether one is bound or free. How beautiful to be bound in strength; how transcendent to be unraveled and free!

Masters say there is no choice. What rises, is. What falls, is. One is captured by none.

In the same way that I wake and care for those I love, sentences are recounted; envelopes are searched; words are greeted; and if finding none, the ink of our entirety is melted into a dark pool and smeared into my pores in full gratitude of even knowing one true and heartfelt epistle.

No more apples, so oatmeal.
No more sex, so this.

What flows is unaffected. What is affected begins to settle at the bottom like silty sediment landing speck by speck down atop of itself after a long, side to side waft.

Curly driftwood, broken snail shells, the skeleton of a decaying row boat.

The big lake roars like the sea and it can trick you until you taste it. Taste and See, indeed!

In a dream I arrived late for work and realized I did not have shoes. In the car, there a few pairs of shoes that didn't fit so, shoe-less, I was forced to present my dilemma before the boss. We argued over society's rules about what cannot be done shoe-less and I awoke in love with my feet.

Now it is time to look down, one step at a time.