ii. eyes, passing

and this is what is.

times traveling through
eyes, passing.

during night, the glasses come off,
fingertips open to see past the dark.
brows twitch oncetwice, breath slides to
between the oaks and beyond their kingdom,
dimblue opens its wonder.

streets call. grasses dance.


..
the hum hums on,
through, for, with or without us.

dry leaves breathesmile
into the eyes of time,
earthbits pressed together
bring dragonfaces, spirits out

when it rains
earth leans into silence,
listens and is swayed
by the union of air and water,
the passion with which the wind
moves drops into patterns

the sun returns
and she sings.


.. .
and the hum hums on,
through, for, with or without us

this is where art is
where life breathes past the alltime:

in forgotten medieval alleys where
the voices still linger, cobble stones
open their soft centers to let faces out

in the old parts of the city,
the stone testifies from under the graffiti.
touchlaughterblood washed off
but singing through the cracks


.. ..
yes, the hum hums on,
keeping itself alive (with our assistance)

the myths are nothing
but rarely seen sides of
the everreal (as in clap
your hands, manwomanchild,
before you kill another)

in the morning
the grass stands still,
singing bones out

the streets
close their mouths
around memories.