And We Ask

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After the storm,

light sings

 

in a language of if,

 

and dreams shine

like the sun through shadows–

 

gardens must sleep

but time urges us to run

 

(from, over, to)

 

and the wind whispers

a thousand whys

 

(here, there)

 

rocks chant when,

as the moon watches in beauty

 

spraying cool diamond music–

a symphony of I am–

 

and we askβ€”

who, how, and what is?

 

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The Oracle made me work this morning. She’s being enigmatic again–sending me out to question the universe–but I suppose that is what poets do.

29 thoughts on “And We Ask

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