Appearing from nowhere

Beyond the bulrush, leaf-bare birch trees suggest the slender face of a doe. Hooded mergansers and a white scatter of gulls on the marsh. Belted kingfisher and red-tailed hawk. Opening the window, morning chill fills the room. Dry fallen leaves, crow call and distant traffic. I stretch toward the hidden sun. Bend at the waist. Sit and strike the brass bowl.

We appear from nowhere. Our existence is not voluntary.

A dream: Bound and blindfolded. Smoke filling the room we roll across the stone floor and press shoulder to shoulder, cheek to cheek. Impassioned. Every last thing we can possibly be. Then gone. 



10 thoughts on “Appearing from nowhere

    • I did Hariod. Whenever dreams appear in my writing, as they often do, like most of the landscapes and incidents they tend to be records. By and large my writing is a way for me to remember things.

    • Thanks Jana. It’s so nice to hear from you… Sometimes I look, but Poetry of Light seems to be at a point of rest. Something I certainly recognize. I wonder if you are recording your journey.

  1. Like you I’m remembering things… in prose though. It’s humbling balancing on that fine line we’ve drawn collectively between being present and time traveling. Trying to remain conscious of the alchemy of being a verb!

  2. So good to see your words, Chris.
    “We appear from nowhere. Our existence is not voluntary.”
    So true. One of the pieces that I am trying to work on right now speaks to this. The involuntary nature of existence. How much we take for granted having come to be.
    Thank you for the impetus to get back at that piece.

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