in the little cracks.
In between the tic and tock of clocks.
In the barely open moments in between
like sliding through the holes of an old screen.
I move in the space between the hands of time,
like the hidden dots that connects the lines...
And eventually some pieces blend enough
to send smoke signals soaring
saying look I made something...
But the truth is,
this is just a shadow whisper
of a sunshine scream
that's been building in my belly since I was a baby.
And I've been blind so many times
to the truth
that I want to move all the time.
Like the water that fills the cracks
and the resounding click of the great bit clock.
In the spacious open moments of life and more,
with the sureness of a solid wood front door.
I want to move with the hands
that can enlighten,
like weaving the dots and lines
to make dimension.
So with this...
The pieces stop...drifting away
and I stop...grasping them hopelessly
as they shape-shift
through lonely fingers.
I move like tapestry.
This woven home...one...
of body and bone
breathing...in and out...in and out...
Babies breathing know no lines between
giving and receiving.
There are no more pieces.
The lie of separation ceases,
and this sunshine scream
floods the creases between my eyes,
and the lines between me and you,
between trying and true,
between one and all,
and melts the fear of answering the call.
I ask that all our creations, big and small,
all speak of this light,
this flow river vein spreading
that connects us to the ocean that soothes.