Without

Newborn squints in world of light,
And cold, and color, and space,
And limber limbs vainly extend,
For the satin amnio embrace,
A burning in the core and skin,
Of air over and through a face,
Of cherub fear.

These inept eyes in blurry hunt,
For that one voice already known,
Waves of unmuffled sounds smother,
And drown the pined maternal tone,
Then lost, the life cord connection,
For the milk of love, bone of bone,
And skin to tear.

A trembling besets failing sight,
Aged eyes turn pallid and dull,
Irises stray from the worship,
Of photons to forms, now made null,
Foreground melds to background,
As the orbs fail within the skull,
Days gray, austere.

And hand to hand in fellowship,
Unspoken vigil 'ere the rest,
A lifetime congeals in moments,
When ebbing consciousness attests,
That what is loved is never lost,
And as a Spirit leaves its nest,
The comfort draws near.

Every breath,
Is the story,
With,
Without.

Breath

In the beginning was the breath,
That beckoned in quantum plays,
Fetal light born in nebulae
First dawning burn first days.

A breathing fires the heavens.

Timeless travail of endless stars,
Blood of gods o'er canvass strewn,
Stars are born and live and die,
Aflame, their frames of Tiamat hewn.

A breathing sparks the myths.

Space, time, and all dimensions,
Dancing in a Daedalean symmetry,
Where element and energy entwine,
Balancing algorithms and alchemy.

A breathing murmurs the theorems.

Over terrain, over waters, broods,
The narration of the biosphere,
Precambrian cells to sentient souls,
Cued by the poet, evolve and appear.

A breathing ballads height and width,

The genesis,
The apocalypse,
The story.

Beauty

In that gentle moment,
Tugging on the sleeve,
When the rays of light,
Will not give you leave,
Paused.

Light mists into the orbs,
A blending in the soul,
Breath halts its vapid step,
In sight of what makes whole,
Awed.

And a memory is touched,
But which is not so clear,
Moved in lovely symmetry,
And breathing holy fear,
Roused.

And when the moment fleets,
Like the waking of the mind,
That abandons wondrous fields.
Eyes open and become blind.
Doused.

Skies Through Branches

Walking beneath trees one frosty night,
The bramble above, a barb wire fence,
The spheres lament in sad restraint,
That the splendor that stars dispense,
Be thus constrained from a wanderer's
Skyward gaze and his delicate sense,
Of numinous.

At times the branches scratch the mind,
Gnarly shadows, creeping crepuscule,
That compass the contemplative eye,
Hunting heavens for mythos and jewel,
Captured, now lauds the lattice work,
The dreamless walk of a somnambule,
Gazing wondrous.

And with crispy steps and wispy breath,
Neck cranes as feet find an open glade,
A crescent moon mists a twilight sky,
The years of weight and worry are staid.
Breath and spirit find their fellowship,
In one timeless time, being unafraid,
Quietly joyous.

Traipsing again below the branches,
Polaris darting through every rift,
A faerie beguiling beyond the sight,
Yet real and calling a soul to lift,
A breath, a prayer, a hope, a dream,
And re-enchanted receives the gift,
Trembling gracious.