DNA

Banisters, spiral stairs--
Ancestors descend in pairs
And dance floors fill.
Fingertips touch, disappear,
Leaving glows --
Each slowly rises.
Chandelier of swarming
Stars grows overhead.
We appear, see what we
Are and  will be,
And dance here.

Light

[Norma photo]
From above,
A little light
Across a
Newly hatched dove,
Inquisitive,
Touching an autoelic
Spark inside.
That is awfully
Close to love.

Vagabond Journey

Dana Bate

b. 1939, d. yesterday. Actor, Scholar, Artist, Man Of Letters.

I shall miss him.

[Click on his name above and you'll get an idea why. Practical philosophers like DB are too rare.]

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Update, 2/10/15: I have had to disconnect the link to Dana's blog, "Vagabond Journeys" because it has been co opted by a spammer.   

At First Sight

We haven't met, true,
But I'm as new to now
As you, so let's seek
And together go to
That peak and prospect
So close to now it
Barely answers when
Or why or how it holds
Us in the sky.

Genie's Nicitation

Before memory and
Mystery merge
I ought to ask what
Sort of task
Includes itself
In destiny.
And who was this
Infant self
That set it out
For me?
He did, and
I remember how.
He allowed himself to be
The me that
I am now.

Star Droving

If incandescent clouds lit
In old brass by the sun--
Run under, fallen in flame--
Became a bell that rang
Light instead of sound,
They would still summon night
And pull the settling
Stars around our souls.

Healing Is

Healing is
A concert turning
Under mind, under
Force and form.
I cannot find its surface,
Contour --it is more,
A shape, but where?
I can't ignore what
Is not there, yet
I heal and learn it is,
As I am, quite real.