The Settling Dusk

In the slowing moments

Of the settling day

Where stillness nears its absolute,

The honeysuckle dusk

Blooms in windlessness,

Prickling the senses

Of moths.

This is dying:

The day spent,

The light away

Beyond the curvature of the world,

The night

Not yet begun.

There are sounds:

Birds chuckling in the canopies,

The swishing of cars,

A throttling motorbike,

But all belong

In the settling,

All are borne upon the air,

All are called

By the magnitude

To witness,

To witness a death

More alive than words

Could ever carry or convey.

Happiness

I walk in reality, breathing the breath,

Feeling the body, seeing with the eyes.

The world is beautiful

For it happens

Despite the thoughts in my head.

The garden grows, expands into spring,

The foliage lush with promise.

The cat sits by the pond, under the

Blossoming trees, and amid daffodils.

He breathes the air too,

Watching, always watching,

Thinking not one moment beyond the

Moment he’s in.

Source

The flower of my heart

Blooms on a stem

Of gossamer energy,

Upsurging from the world

Behind the world,

The space that is formless.

My heart smiles on me

As the heart behind the heart smiles,

As love comes

Like a river from the source:

Like a river from the source

Provided endlessly.

Lights Of March

 

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Softly treads March
Upon the sun-warmed earth:
A new green pallet
Strewn in daplings
Beneath trees
Still winter shod
But bearing
Blue sky and bud.
And Beneath:
A brief trumpeting
Of yellowness
Before the sky shades
With a canopy of leaf.

©Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2017