shifting sands grains unable to be grasped slipping through fingers sieve of my existence footprints vanishing in vain trying to leave an imprint, fingerprints fossilizing
as I watch sea drops dry on shells shells of mankind displayed non-selves on shelves
shifting painted shapes offer to take me away only to lead to the next drifting cumulous cloud lateral when I need to be higher homeward bound
shifting sands I open my hand spread my fingers wider I know what the answers are not to feel the silk is to feel nothing caught but sensory strokes the void in the curve of my palm no trail found to my entrance into the sea
saltwater can’t sting when the wounds are too far beneath the body’s surface
arms open I invite the above in home- sick let me know I am not
There is no greater feeling (other than love, and perhaps forgiveness) than the way the heavens ever so slowly open in the last of the fading rumbles, parting clouds to reveal nothing more than the forgotten, that supreme is all, above and beyond this, that we never were alone through any of it; it makes me almost wish
for another storm…
I realize that this is that love and forgiveness aforementioned taking form.
Nothing perpendicular nor parallel nor artificial about the clouds, the only construction in how they are always self-shifting, in motion, morphing into pictures and infinite undefined shapes. No straight lines to not cross nor borders boxing in the imagination, already dissected and discarded by the non-hands of mortal science “experts,” the angels that form them, sunset color them, exercising their talents even in heaven, a role for every soul based on their former heart’s passions, now freed from binding form themselves. How can one ever look away from the clouds?
Why must I ever be called from this intriguing trance? What non-essential obligations must disrupt my lackadaisical, free-roaming, playfully-romping musings? How long can I get away with this get-away, setting dream after fantasy after dream asail on these departing wisps and puffs of hope? I wish I could say what I thought about all day, but the elusive intangible keeps flitting from capture; no, not flitting – much slower, matching the amoeba motion of the white ink blots. Leave me in peace with such ungraspable endless possibilities of these Rorschach mind concoctions.
I hear someone coming. Dragon and Pegasus swoop down to scoop me up, but today I think I’ll hop onto Sea Turtle’s back. “Take me away further into that endless perfect blue, my friend.”
Is it wrong that my favorite companions are clustered water droplets?
Befriending bumblebees, watching cloud-shapes come to life, making majestic the flowering weeds, the peace around me seeps in when I am outside.
Time may tick, but no manmade clock interrupts Laura’s la-la land thoughts. I am one of them, the nature alive in the yard, no language needed when you are birthed from the stars, though I do whistle in response to the birds; in another life, I learned the wordless verses.
Sunlight dances with my frizzy tresses; soon I will waltz with the summer wind in sundresses. I don’t need to go far; just don’t make me go in. I wish to stay longer as princess in this magical kingdom.