I speak in real time
As head motions hand
to write
I’ve uncovered layers
of Self
the fog of years
roll revealing
slowly the nature of Now –
Wrought appears at
The edge of
these grasslands
Stops to eat
with my hunger
Along the walkways of a
Furrowed homestead
meditates with the
whippoorwills in the
Summer fauna
all green against green
The infinite gesture
of life unfolds
I hold myself in this
cradle of thought
As the wise
abutilon sings to me.

© K. James Ribble