The memories form, cutting a path

          to an Inner Gate spoken

          from a moth’s mouth – silent

          like ancient myths unfolding within,

Forming

like patterns from a

lotus, a kaleidoscope of entropy

where existence lives freely

– for there only be an elevation–

as dreams emerge, clouds of

white, carpeted blue

aerial frequencies serene in the

grasp of nightfall, finding moonlight

in captivity surrounding my heart like

a missive to your smile, unfolding

          now within me,

          contemplating the Point

that counters everything to the rhythm of Time

its velvet presence in

Your eyes reflecting  

Summer in June,

Every color washed bright

By your laughing smile

It is here against this bluedusk of August

in these abundant landscapes, that

          the aperture of appearance

          pours its avowed mastery

of Silence into trust – like doves

ordering a wreak of midnight

          in a confusion of soundlessness,

          void becomes the wind of emotion, mouthed only as carried revelations —

warmed in the coronation of your light.

© K. James Ribble