Sky Ceaselessly Flowing

Where thoughts flow to the edge of space,

blending with clouds,

where inside my deep place, my mystic child revels,

I breathe through debris—

made of bird language and grass,

the distance, letting go,

and loops of wakefulness.

I stand still, and feel its burn.

With my open arms,

asking third eye questions,

I no longer bargain.

I know that I don’t know.

I realize the immense array of possibilities,

and my separateness is gone--