The white cloth floats in the gentle breeze and the plant breaks through the soil that loved it
The soil that gave itself for its nourishment; gave itself so that it may find life
The stars above are the hollow spaces of a beautiful mind
And the mountains are the distant spaces of a distance well spent in time.
The tree is yet still a seed
And the clouds are yet still the water that waters the earth.
Your mind is yet still a space in time not thought of,
And our meeting still a scripted hope of a reality we are yet to live.
This poem is yet still but an unthought-of thought;
a song that lingers within our fingertips until I sing it
The bird is yet still a song and the song is yet still a bird unsung –
A song half birthed in memory
The universe is yet still the space that lingers in the stillness of a single, unspoken moment.
The child is yet still a love affair and the continents of man are yet still children of peace.
And in this moment we dance. And as we dance we are free.
For our freedom is the child we are
And we are the moment that is a moment of love.