random thoughts

Solid soil
is a fool's illusion.
Slipping, shifting,
fusion and dissolution;
the earth beneath my feet
churns, turns,
and slips away.
By quick sand’s
heavy hand
I‘ve come to understand
why they say
“Nothing gold can stay”.
My Tara is me.
I will build and sow;
my words will grow.
I will be the land
that feeds and supports,
even as I hang
upon the vacant ether.


A hungry waif, I peer through amber glowing windows at hearth-lit faces. So many know home. So many have known nothing else. I smile, glad they have never known life as a satelite loose of its orbit. I feel warmed, knowing some humanity still lives in close-knit connection. What a gift, to have shelter. What a blessing, to know that if you vanished, you'd be missed.

I will wrap my weary, weathered arms around my precious gifts, my lovely genius neices. I will pray they never understand me. I hope they never have the background to know what it is like to see the sweet ties of humanity only as a wishful voyeur, only through windows at other worlds. If they need a Tara, I will be there.