A field of flowers
Disappearing into darkness
The scent of uprooted earth and pine
Becoming the horizon
THE SWEET DEW OF HONEYSUCKLE
ESCAPES THROUGH THE PASSAGES OF COURTYARDS
SCALES WITH IVY AND TEMPERED WITH ICE.
BEYOND THE YIELDING DANCES OF BLACKBIRDS
THAT PARADE THE ROUNDED WALLS, WE CAN SEE
THE CHURCH BELLS SWING THROUGH THE OPAQUE STAR
OF PALESTINE-ROSE GLASS.
IRON NOTES LIFT LIKE SCENTS DRAWN OUT FROM THE RAIN ABOVE
THE QUIET TOWN AND TRAVELLING CLOUDS.
Ascension
All Is One
All is one, one breath. With the magnitude of what defies time and place. A relationship unscripted, that moves without separation, just as the dark pine leans into the wind, into the voice of centuries. To hand yourself over to the promise of exchange; the act of giving and receiving; a dialogue that became an equilibrium in a time before beginning and end.
