by Catharine Otto
I feel the spaces within the
stillness, and listen…
Lingering in the air, are
paired the sweet, salty dampness
Declaring to my delight that the
sea is nearby,
And the languorous scent of
the hotel’s French milled soap,
Feeling even softer than usual
against my skin.
The oblique gleam of tile, the
lustrous sheen of white bathed in sunlight,
The indescribable softness
and openness of the sky’s keen blue
All above me and about me.
The spaces within the
stillness….
The sublime shape of a
seashell
With its pristine inner world
of curves,
The covert chambers formed by
its fluted spirals.
And the spaces formed by the
folds and turns
Of the brain and the heart,
Capturing the secret souls within
all
So that they do not fly
out---premature—
Dangerously unarmed!
The fractal patterns repeated
in all our desires—
Leading back to this—
The wonder in the shape of a
leaf,
A seashell;
A fossil;
A life yet to be.
Each reviving a wondering
child in all of us.
No comments:
Post a Comment