Belly of a Star

my practice of compassion

Dancing Home

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My heart is full of He,
again.
He rises
ember-shade,
and dances past
the prowling night.
in dusty field,
made hay.

A flower to the fowl,
I see
Him, here,
in touching stone;
A heart so tender, laid,
As river to the throne.

I watch Him pass, the passerby,
the sky, a fading-grey.
I hold Him in the heart of hearts,
just near, where angels sway.

Their voices
chant in unison;
A whisper, “All is near.”

I wander past the tipping stones,
where caverns drip of tear.
A honey dew of
Atmosphere.
Listen, still,
the gatherings,
of cantors bathing wills.

“Harken, here,” they come to be.
Their telling thick, as true.

“Can you see beneath the sea,
where fathers anchored blue?”

I’ve come again, to traveling,
with blankets tender, sweet.
Wrapped within the evermore,
Where babes are fast asleep.

Can you see them,
as I do? The willows,
dancing home,
to where the blind man walked,
Ill-temper, tamed in tune,
of flank and staff, immune.

“Come gather, here,”
Day beckons, glee;
the one I know as true.
And step by step,
I enter thee:
The one, becomes the Two.

How fortunate, this rose of thorn,
this breaking bread of mire.
How roads,
turned frail and broken through,
have led, the dire,

Days.
I’m headed now,
to brighter place.
Where angels dance and sing.
Remember thee,
of yesterday,
when I, was slumbering.

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