Refusing Full Blue

How I haven't seen the moon for too long – that kind of awareness – that kind of ache.

4 a.m. might be named a scared hour by insomniacs to help with self-soothing. Just saying.

Rain finally passes but sitting on the ground a few days later will still soak your shorts and legs.
Air tinged with hints of smoke and pine.
Sky refusing full blue.
Bun-bun growing in the protection of her suburban oasis, though not without a few terrifying chase scenes with Kora.
Summer goes about its way of breeding excruciatingly deep gratitude for life, warmth and rays.
What birds do you think I will see in Vermont?

A dream feels a little further out of reach which is a good reminder that dreams uphold illusions and the time has passed for that.

Lately I don't sleep enough for dreams but there was this one a few mornings ago that yet lingers in the sacral chakra. She and I shared one kiss, more tender than Heaven had ever known in all of time. And that was that.

And you, my brother, he who allowed himself to be a guide back to truth, what if we put our feet in the actual river together? Trees would overlook that communion and we would invite them to partake, of course. Would you read to me or tell me that secret poem you hold so dear? Could we sit on a blanket and nibble like rabbits on the yield of growing things?

Discalced monk, show me your feet and I will show you mine.

We are steps away from the hermitage we never left.

Well, our footprints in the sand show a bit of dancing was involved, but at the end of the day, with legs and feet happily weary from joy, we all shall rest.
In peace.