Out there—

In the land …

Grass blades,

dance in the wind,

like fingers to a beat,

snow-pollen-magic,

and the melody of peace.

Eyes lazy with summer,

restore,

challenge thoughts

to let go,

let go—

The birds understand.

Everything.

Come and go freely.

What I’d love to be:

Extended, a blue wing,

going effortlessly.

Oak-men with sturdy branches,

leaves of feminine-delight,

graciously balance the seasons,

here and gone, red, yellow,

fall-singing then brittle on the ground.

Oh and the sky, I envy,

she is blessed infinitely,

holding the stars, her jewels,

and lover the moon.

A heart is in this nature:

Cascades upon living rock,

the sound a tale of memories:

In love she falls,

water to her stream.

And I no longer

want to view,

from the confines

of manufactured,

man, industry,

But be

… of the living.

©Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte

(from Book II)

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