Drifting

When the flesh of this emotion dies,

When it goes down so deep;

Six feet or less or more,

As food to termites, vultures or the fish,

And nourishment to earth or contamination to

The river or the air,

When it dries or softens according to the intensity

Of the seasons,

Then, the soul like the full moon bright across our

Forest brown, will shine its light

Visible and clear on our path that we may walk free.

When the soul of this emotion rests,

Casting long shadows on the trees of our memories,

Illuminating the labyrinths of our sojourn,

Then, the energy of our moon naked, shall raise the tide

Of knowledge and we shall gather the shells of wisdom

And learn to live again.

When the ashes of our fire---out,

Is cast to the wind, when it reaches the end of time,

Then, we shall go back to the beginning

And begin again.

© November, 2009