Stark trees pose and point,

their silhouettes more bold with each

downward tug on the sun, and then

that moment between too light for night

and too dark for day, that moment

when everything stops striving,

if only for an instant, content to simply be

in-between, that moment  before the stars

start sneaking into position, and the light

that emboldened the branches

becomes a whispered glow, silencing

one form of beauty to make space

for the subtle song of stillness.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nose nestled into tail,

body curled in comfort,

he smiles, sighs, snores,

dreaming age into youth,

dark into light,

winter into spring.

Sun slips South,

stars slide into space, snow sparkles,

silence soothes.

Look beyond the colors,

the lines, the shapes,

the piece hanging

on the gallery wall. Look,

with your eyes closed,

into its center, hear

its heart pounding, and listen

to the brushstrokes chant

primitive songs. Smell

the oil, the canvas,

the artist’s body blazing

with the fever of inspiration.

And then, feel. Feel

the longing, the healing,

the ecstasy of creation pull

you in deeper to swirl, to spin,

to dance with this force

electrifying the molecules

inside you and around you,

transforming art into life,

and life into art.