Reflecting their Daughters

The Moon is staring down

Upon our ridiculous lives

Judging while she chews the cud,

The passive Anger of the Bull

Abiding in serenity of Midnights Cave

and Noon in the Spring Vale chorus

Among the budding branches

Luring them forth, He measures Air

In untouchable Birch Bark Ghosts

from a blue freedom we cannot reach

The ponderous Bull , each day penetrates waters

Walking through rippling truth untold

laying down the fields with ornate wisdom

Knowing Not Knowing, not young not old

Thats you up there in the spinning mirror

A silver orb, anvil made

by moths, spiders and Proportion

Our time travels recklessly with us

With or without caution.

 

Done