FLIGHT

In the overlay of heaven and Earth,

the thinnest place I know is down a long

road on my scooter where there is time 

to think things all the way through…

A lovely face in a passing car brings to mind

every woman I’ve ever loved or made love to

or didn’t, but wanted to slide a slow hand

along the smooth inside of her long thigh…

rock and roll; watch her slow breath

asleep on the pillow next to mine.

It was there I found the bright blue of a desert sky

so deep you can see the black on the other side,

wind so hot your soul edges its way

through your skin and expands outward

“I’ll fly away oh glory, I’ll fly away;

when I die Halleluiah by and by, I’ll fly away.”

The redbuds and dogwoods prove

God is an impressionist,

Monet, but not Van Gogh at the last end of time.

Before Picasso or Dali built the fire that burned

everything to leave us in the ashes;

the revolution behind passed

with a moan, not a whimper…

“Here we go ‘round the mulberry bush,

The mulberry bush, the mulberry bush.”

Unexpected debris on the pavement ahead

to swerve and avoid brings the witch to

dig at the scabs of regret and disappointment,

and a ragged skeleton emerges to grin at the times

I hurtsomebody I didn’t mean to, and lowered the lid

on sweet possibilities, her eyes looking off to the side

for what could have been.

It is there, in the overlay of heaven and earth

I can feel the knots on my shoulder blades

where the budding wings

get ready for a last solo.

Reviews

[Lorry]

We should all have a place to think things all the way through Vol. Just think how much space would be saved in whatever part of the brain tallies up the regret deficit.
I have a place not unlike yours too, except it is a trail, through forest areas that lead to various trails and finally, bits of scenery that begin flat and then burst the sky with their mountainous tips. All around them, in summer at least is skies of the Palestinian blue, which unlike yours, turn into white in the distance and not the usual fluffy cloud white, but actual the sky has ran out of colour white.
Usually when I have wandered my way to that, I have thought everything through, including things I wasn't even aware I was thinking and have usually put the world to rights on the walk home, before I hear on the news that someone (usually a politician) has went and bollocksed everything up again....which usually leads to my thinking that we should really Lear our lesson and stop voting for the assists, as it only encourages them.

[Lorry]

Ps...predictive text changed palest blue to Palestinian blue! Sorry Palestine.

[Vol]

Lorry, A poet friend of mine introduced me to the concept of "Thin Places," where the distance between us and God seems to become rather nebulous. I am reminded of the Navajo who make it their ambition to "walk in beauty." From what I have seen of their environs, EVERYWHERE is a thin place for them. Another favorite of mine is any lush, wild forest with a creek splashing through. My brother lives in one. Last year I went for a walk there and got lost for several hours. I was in no hurry to find my way back out. Still another is waist deep in the ocean with a spinning reel and a long rod, catching a fish is optional. In none of my places are politicians of ANY stripe welcome.
Vol

[Lorry]

Mountain climbers must fall into that category too, as I have read quite a few books where they mention feeling anothers prescience and even feeling it so much that they try to share their food with them. You'd think that once back down they'd put it down to altitude sickness, but a surprising amount of them insist it was something akin to "more than spiritual."
Whatever it is, you do seem to find more of it in nature. Maybe it is more than spiritual, which would also explain the pull of wanting to always return to it and find that calm once more.
It sure beats city living, where you can't get a minute to yourself, without hearing an angry neighbour "lose their s**t."
I am currently busy just sitting listening to the wind and enjoying the lack of other people's sounds. 😊

[Vol]

Lorry,
sigh...
The poet friend here is the same Jamie...