The Reach

27 06 2013

An island stands mountainously,
a back drop for lookers on.
A monument to creation itself.

The reach lies in wait,
silent, without disposition or expectation

-terribly still-
a mill pond calm
prevails grudgingly.
Distances vary as the lodes
of the living waters transit
change into ponds,
and then again
to rivers and streams,
deliberating their contiguous
routes to the sea of commonality.
Twins, Kindred, they be,
of the divine ways they have traveled,
the hapless spawn of intent bringing quieting,
rioting bluebells in spring, freshening, while
making inscribed, weathered highways of this world.
(though there are other worlds than this)
Long traveled, familiar, yet un-navigable

is the reach-

it’s byways gone(un-mapped)in a nod of whispers(or a whisper of nods).
Traveling rivers of desire. Scaling the mountains of knowledge.
Afloat in a salty sea of truth. Sanctified by sanity.
Sanitized by sanctity. Gifted in absentia…

We journey from
shore to island,
from island to shore.

Love lies in the reach.

For so long as blue bells bloom
or mountain avens give birth
from the rocky, hallowed crags
of creations womb, then…

Love lies in the reach.

Belying the compromise of
our brief, flowing span,
Eternal and Indigenous, we are, when…

Love lies in the reach.

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