Color bursting on retina,
grass and trees washed clean.
Entrancing eyes, ears, nose, mind. . .
California spring bursting toward summer;
this Valley vibrating towards its own creation.

This silence so keenly decreed-
Only this wind blowing...
can actually speak in this inhabited valley
speaking only the language of leaves/ branches rubbing.

We came to this enchanted Valley.
so this human silence
could tear bitterly at these closed places. . .
you know, the betrayals, pains, regrets
moments of all sorts; lost forever. . .
good and bad- drowned in all of time.

Slowly; to regain this fundamental clarity.
these afternoon winds blowing new thoughts down,
down to the great highway.
remembering–holding to anything–is not the point.

Could it be? like waking from a dream;
a clear buoyant mind.
wide like the sky;
has no need of an object.

Finding some balance
these factors- awakening themselves
this crucible of a teeter totter
balanced on the head of a pin.
Everything comes to this center point.
The known world vanishes;
Mind in its dualism,
has lost its home.

All seperateness