When Soul Rises Into Lips

Don't Be Satisfied With Stories, How Things Have Gone With Others. Unfold Your Own Myth.

I Seem Restless, But Am Deeply At Ease. Branches Tremble; The Roots Are Still.

Tree Limbs Rise And Fall Like The Ecstatic Arms Of Those Who Have Submitted To The Mystical Life. Leaf Sounds Talk Together Like Poets Making Fresh Metaphors.

Light The Incense! You Have To Burn To Be Fragrant.

Poems Reach Up Like Spindrift And The Edge Of Driftwood Along The Beach, Wanting! They Derive From A Slow And Powerful Root That We Can’t See. Stop The Words Now. Open The Window In The Center Of Your Chest, And Let The Spirits Fly In And Out.