Morning curls over the crow calls.
The blueing sky unlocks
The navigation markers of the spirit.
A man rests, softly breathing,
His heart leaning into a voice
That haunts deep, sweet, healing registers,
Embracing all nature.
Aware of the time of gifts
Whose light imparts a sacred harmony,
Briefly, bravely captured
In the noetic signature of a kindly smile;
Awake to the rhythm of dappled raindrops
Whose luminescence whispers,
Beguiling, beckoning,
In the quiescent murmur of the day’s caress;
Alive to the perfume of night-scented flowers
Whose fragrances shimmer,
Vibrant, vagrant,
In the cool solicitude of evening.
With no thought but to live, complete,
In the moment whose prize
Eludes the grasp of captive minds,
The man turns,
The raindrops tumble,
The fragrances cascade.
Lowering his outstretched hand
He gathers his seamless garment
And moves on,
Transient as autumn clouds.
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