Tuesday, April 16, 2013

blessed fruit

in that place again, 
of not knowing.

the awe I feel to be so near this open space
calls in the guardians 
like bees to flowers.

the more true it is,
the more this fruit is tasted
the more astounded and soft body feels
and oh, so vulnerable.

and the trust
(oh, Uli)
the trust
becomes the path

my feet run
like the gazelle
on the vast plains

what really knows this taste of honeyed fruit?
what ever it is
it will carry this body home.

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