clar pace detour

three percent waxing crescent,

at a river’s pace of Draconid 

showers. trail a steady grace.

when the moon sets with the sun

at snail’s pace, tracks of treasures

howl a call to seek the far horizon.

move annular. pare down your gear

to essence. wake. stay with the dream

where bony roots rise and twist.

slow as a stone’s pace, one place, 

where spent grass praises the wind

weaving lost feathers into tattered wands.

the tapered neck of unbottled time runs.

swig of sorrow, pint of joy, cask of secrets

whispered into your ear’s small cup.

pop the cork and pour out my vintage

at aging’s pace, misplace. walk into 

the empty room looking for something.

face fear of death’s pace. erase

haunting thoughts, leave no trace.

fall from inquiry to enquiry. all the queries

tilt the scale, a weight upon my hazel eyes.

hurtling detours quake and the whole

earth opens up. rise into the light,

harbor suns in your chest of pleasures.

the mind of many moons keeps capricious

pace. take a stand in the grove. feet in the folly, 

where comfort births enlightenment.

lethargic, be humbled by the garden. 

be magnified, plant a seed. memories 

pace, toes counting growth rings, foreground

becomes background and the details melt.

owls and bats in the clar tree, 

clear and obvious, above the forest

coppicing eposodic predators in the periodic 

weather, don’t be the prey of life’s race.

retrace with no agenda, begin again, spirit’s pace.