The Witness

Our mistakes crack open. Each leaf
veined distinctly,

and we star-made music makers
are finger printed as well.


This is expansion: to stand as One with all.

The mountains a dense
explosion of trees.

Night comes to us sexy,
whispers to us about belief in light.

Words tumble from us. Honesty, a naked

We linger in the source of gardens.

For two hundred thousand years,
we have been deaf.

We forget meaning, our storylines
repeat the rhythm of our breaking.

The soul is without weight in the end.

We must find the calm witness
within that observes the self

quietly, the Child laughing
in a flurry of light.

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