Writing the mystery
The mystery from the Muse
the Muse from my heart
my heart holds this moment
precious and wild
wild like Mother Nature
the teet that fed
you its golden milk
that sacred substance
some might call ambrosia
the nectar of the gods
the god in everything we breathe
and smell
the touch of a leaf of sage
both soft and slightly rough
on my fingers when I rub it backwards
backwards I feel I am
walking in footsteps of the great unknown
unknown each day in its small
dewdrop essence of beauty and chaos
chaos in the morning teacups and crumbs
the crumbs I pick up five times
each day, after every meal
meals I prepare for every being
In my house husband child cat dog
the dog is a puppy
the puppy is a baby
the baby is contending attention
with the four year old
attention is what I cant spare
spare time that long forgotten mystery
mystery lying underneath each glance
the constant glance of supervision of the whole
the whole story gets told through its tiny specs
a spec of sand from the cosmos
tells about you and me today
today is the day I write
writing is my love
love is everything
everything contains mystery
oona's looking glass 