Sakura

In the soft Spring breeze

A flurry of pink and white, like snow

Tickling storms fill a still young season

As blossoms invite, and touch the world

Of sight and sense

Breezes of lightened air, dressed heavy with scent

day in blossom, and it fills every thing

with the wonder of nascence.

As if tiny notes on strings of air

Petals make music felt at heart

And every sinew reaches for tenderness

To gather the warm sun, waterous air

And ride the rising tide of life;

to mate the inner desire

And the outward touch as they unfold

And bare to every occurrence of moving air

Blossoms seek as flowers need

The reckoning of an inner seed, a wish

To be like all things that reach to the sky

softness of words

We need not celebrate the self,

but find that it has a wondrous dimension,

to create, and recreate- become a feeling,

a consciousness immersed in something of itself.

It is as close as we can come to touching, 

when we agree to be within a feeling...

We cease to be an insular entity

when the inner creativity, builds 

a fortress  comes from a bubble of air

We stand, as thought beings

woman and man but far less than

the rift between seen and unseen.

No need of any other sense to know

the wanting turns to stillness,

the ache finds its balm, and in

the depths of wonder, there is wonder still

of the reach of some dearest eyes

The spirit vines like life to sun

lifted on wings define the winds;

 float upon the softness of words

that stay and fold into memory, that we

were just...this way