The apple blossoms pink and white

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The apple blossoms pink and white.
We sit sprawled out on a blanket
that belonged to nonna in our backyard.
You are eight months old.
Your whole body is round and lovely.
You have soft full cheeks and the bluest of eyes.
You play busily, observing the world,
flowers, bees, branches, specks of dirt.

Interspersed into every action
are the looks you steal at me, furtive, gleeful, curious.
There are moments when you laugh
in short staccato ha-has,
your whole face puckered in an impish grin.
I am imbued by a love so wide and deep
words fail to paint its full picture.

I look at the apple blossoms, and wonder
whether we will have apples this year.
There is a serendipitous connection
between my fertile outburst and the trees’.
Life moves in mysterious ways.

You are holding up one of the pieces of the rainbow,
the yellow one, thrusting your arm
back and forth in happy motion.
I look at you, at my life.
I feel complete.

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In Love

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In love with the pulsing ripples.
In love with the waxing flush
of belly round.
In love with Moon so bright,
her pure face eclipsed by the earth’s
shadow of gold, tonight.
In love with creation happening
mysteriously,
as woven within me.
In love with the smile of him
who surrounds me.
A caress so tender,
my sensitive skin responds
like the veined skein of an orchid leaf.
In love with the sun’s rays
kissing my limbs.
In love with the deep blue sea
crooning us to sleep at night.
In love with the flowering trees,
whose fragrance fills the night air.
Magnolia, plumeria, jasmine, orchid.
I am in love.

Sacred Fire

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burning bright
cleanses my soul
through the night.

Aspiring high the flames
tear, licking the sky
in formless wear.

Millions of tongues,
in unspoken languages,
consecrate
the essence of the divine.

We stand together
as one
witness to our
indelible, unsolvable self
and to all that is other.

To whispered murmurs and hushes,
to the bird in the rushes.

In secret pockets of the night
embers glow of eyes that see.

Forward and back
beneath the vast sky,
in luminescence.

Mine and yours,
a heavenly embrace.

With all that is movement,
growth
process.

Unfurling spiral of life
seed, shoot, leaf, flower.

And back, withering
becoming with the earth
underneath and over.

The tide runs in and out
as it follows the secret
stories of the moon.

Eyes glow and tears shine.
A quintessential saltiness
pressed from deep within.

I release to witness.
My heart quickens.

The in and out breath
that shapes us.
The bridge between
words
arcane, sudden.

‘To see the world in a grain of sand
and the heavens in a wild flower’
said William Blake
mystic, poet, unknown.

My breath soft and shallow,
I soar into the sky
holding form, dear
to essence,
one instant, so precious.

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