the beautiful moment

your music preceeds you
sunlight ebbing across the horizon
is love a nostalgic thing,
always looking in the mirror
of the past tense-- what could be
is, and what is not doesn't matter
I think about the name of my loved one,
In the mirror I have begun to resemble
the projection of my wife, but for a moment
deified on occasion,
man is the animus to his anima--
other such paradoxial ponderings
blushing in the presense of beauty,
woman edifies man who must worship the same godess
pale white branches glowing milky black,
luster of sadness, and there is a clarity
which comes from looking within,
a momentary silence penetrates you--
looking out towards the furure
there are omens like birdsongs,
a quarum of porcupine beside the river,
amd then there are the black birds of soul
who follow me wherever i go like a sadness
or a silent joy, the kind of wisdom
one would project upon the owl
nature embued with the perfections
that mankind is lacking, but somehow the
heart of a human echoes a warm joy,
in between periods of sadness,
there is a glimpse of azure sky
and the sliver of ivory, hangs
like a prayer, a kind of optimism
balancing the world,
a wonderous sphere across the empty plane
there is the fresh chill of moon, fog, and ice
the dreamer sleeps supended
like silver bubbles in a golden fluted glass
of frosty champaigne
all good things go to yr. head
both bird and bear have conquered
the tide of inhibition,
at one with steady becoming--
they have conquered the slumber
re-birthed through battle,
having been hunted,
they know no fears
new totems of joy