I thank you for the pasturing of my beast,
for the plants you never fail to water,
for your mind that flies beyond Time.
Do I do something to earn this grace,
or is it given freely in random generosity?
Every hair upon my head is a steel strand
now pulled to the dance by your fingers…
Ah, magnets on the sliding strings of a cello.
I thank you for the tears that salt my joy
for flying kites that rotate in slow motion at night,
for your heart that gives while it learns the art of giving.
All I did was open my eyes; could it really be that easy?
When I stop the world going around me, I feel it can.
For the poet, words and tears can come so quickly.
Only the muse knows the depth of my rambling and sobbing.
I thank you for being the wise, the perfect shade of quiet.
The screamers of the world, stop banging on my doors,
each time that you come in.
August 2, 2013
H.R. Mainland SL