It's LIfe, Just LIfe, It's as Simple as That

Passion slicing into waiting cells
I-ching tossing wake up dreams
No more pickup-stix with broken spirits

It is him, just him, that's what it seems
A base note playing with a rare perfume
A tangle full of top notes, singing

Almost as though it were actually me
Is this the way it ought to be
This is the way of the inside me

That movie-raptured side of me
Chondrial self without the layers
Dharma self, made up of chi

Living in a palomino day
Soaking with the breath of life
sinking Into the sunny layer
Into who am I am I me am I you am I
Yes! Oh how I want that way to be

Rusty leaves, dry stalks and slippery greens
Pulsing with the drum of life
Transparent with the juice of winter apples.

Italian Garden, Conservancy Garden, New York Central Park