Present

Words lose their meaning
Thoughts become intentions
Mind merges with heart
Silence is prayer

Each second a lifetime
Empty and full
Breath and spirit
Are the same

On the trees
On the mountains
On the seas
They are the same

A world lives and dies
On the breath of the wind
The spirit moves in all
Everything is one

A Scented Recollection

I’m not too fond of roses

but I have a memory

of the pale pink kind

growing near our kitchen door

and how, on a summer evening

when I took the dog out for

his last pee of the day

that pale pink scent would creep,

wisp-like, around the gable end,

carried on a soft breeze,

and enfold me; and it seemed

in the stillness of that moment,

that a corner of my heart

would be filled

with a sense of peace