Good Morning Life

In dawn's first light I sit on my balcony to watch the fire fight.
Gleaming red spills historic battle scenes on a page of ether
washing previous ink blots away for new visuals.

I'm up to it.
Waking sleep from it's slumber to be cast in mosaics
mouth squabbling with gravity, lungs grasping for a glimpse of the living, fresh and unbridled.

Yawn.

©Krishna Volk 2010

Before It was Said

Listening to clicks
of the water heater settling

after a morning of introspection

on the white side of cedar leaves.

I never blink when I want to become.

There is no noise to emulate

when you sit in a still puddle

and wait for a lotus to sprout from the top

of your head. If I stay where I am,

I am at the end of a destination.

It would be desert without shrubs

or sand: motion of leaving

and returning to the time when my name

was about to be spoken by my mother –

her existence wanting nothing but an utterance.