FOR ALL THE BEAUTY

I cry for all the beauty

that I witness and am part of -

or bereft of:

I weep inside, out loud, aquake with unseemly joy:

at courage, gentleness,

radiance of the ordinary;

those unnamed men pilgrimaging across a broken land;

those teetering on the brink of direst chaos, steady as a rock;

those grieving for beloveds with a smile;

those who make time to listen - to pray and play.

The days and years are alert,

bespeaking silently,

the air itself has ears

whilst the elements zither in their alchemic crucibles.

My heart creaks and bends -

unfurling petals like a lotus, 

my skin is wafer-thin,

my mind is MU - un,

somehow non-local.

Extra-sensory apparatus

kicks into go-mode

and I fly - I cry;

the beloved Unknown

my nameless dharma.

I tread the land and moment:

I read the News

and listen to the Weather report

from excruciating distances. Beauty is ecstatically alive,

ever-present.