Overlapped

Days passed.
We returned to the pathway traipsing familiar mud on our boots,
the sun warm on our sleeves.

Birds persisted with their chatter,
but the wreckage of time was there with its new identification.
Historians of space.

New lives overworking this painting.
Digging down to the purpose of events in repetition.

© Dec-1996 Sonja J. Phinney

Overlapping

We awake, yet remain haunted by dream.
Steps trail off just beyond the earthly.
Names buried beneath our ribs.

A vessel waits, fur lined.
There is nobody but this singing accompanying flashes of light.
The world spins round with white bodies dispersing like sand clouds
thirsting for roots.

We curl into the lap in this cup
Where edges overlap.

© 23-Jan-2008 Sonja J. Phinney

To the Drunk

When you say you have lost that direction,
Sit out in the breeze.
It is still inside you.

When you hunger what you have lost,
Look far into the distance.

What is captured in a snapshot of time can never be lost.
Upon our return, we are greeted into the house of wisdom’s essence
That has left its clothes in another room.

The time of external enchantment has left its paints by the water.
The seeker is drenched in the forest drinking through roots
Directing through this body.

© -Sonja J. Phinney(1986)