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there is something wild
in how fortune loses its bones
when backed up against hills
of the umber and sienna of my home
traced in the spirals of longing
and the disturbance of sleepless fretting
over the material focus I've unlearnt
and learnt all over again

so that I
may grasp the ethereal
and unwrap moods
like a present day after day
unaware of the past
and how it conflicts with
a future deck of cards
I long to hold and remember
when old and infirm and touched
by the irrefutable lightness
of compassion

I will hold onto all of this
and sing from my belly
of the stars and the heavens
and the earth beneath my toes
holding onto
the breath of unborn orphans
and the shimmer of clasped hands
over a moonlit night in the forest
dancing to the emptiness and healing
of becoming one with
the stones