Who casts
the light
upon these trees
thru which they stand and shine?
The air, I feel
but cannot see
the blue, above
that we agree
is called the sky,
The bi-plane, doing
it's best impression of a bald eagle,
The breeze, swaying
thru the lofty tops
at once, shrugging
off its' leaves in the same direction
they're meant to fall.
My feet, moving
across the earth,
the plastic rubber soles
sliding on cement pavement,
And I,
breathing
And I,
becoming
What I
am beholding,
Breath as a tool
to manifest all of what sources say
was made before me,
my destiny.
Who's name do we call by this wonderment?
Nature, acting out the oldest act
Look around you--what is the nature
of the nature
that surrounds you?
What do you notice?
And what do you call it?
A name,
by God?
Or by some other name?
The light thus cast upon the branch
shows the full breadth
of the wood, its' fibre
The shadow of the branch too
is shown in full.
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