gratitude and beatitudes

The breath it comes
in waves on sand.

The bosom of Earth
Seep milk of (over) me, nurture
equanimity.
It goes on without notice
of its tracks.
It runs down the neck
of the dying
on the breath of the born.

The rhythm in destruction.
Fire and light bring void.
Void is there.
It is before fire – before death
before life
it is the
space we lay with these
experiences in.

(excerpt March 2014, March 2020)