Tularosa Sunrise - Opus 16 - Purity

At one point, the man found himself
Walking against the wind in a suit and tie,
The sand sticking to his socks
And filling his shoes.

Weighted, he approached the water.
Standing still, the tide swirled up
To his ankles before he could run backwards,
To escape capture.

Gasping, he sat down and unlaced
Each shoe and rubbed his toes.
He stood with his hair blowing,
While he undid his pants.

The wind caught his jacket
And blew it into the air as
He drew his arm from the sleeve.
His shirt unraveled.

He pulled down his underwear
And stepped naked onto the hard sand.
Everything he came with went
Bouncing down the beach.

He gathered driftwood in the dunes.
He wedged wood together,
Tucking large under small,
Locking up a framework.

The sun warmed the sand.
The wind lay down with the lamb.
The man crawled naked into the
House and dreamed.

Catalina

© Wavepoint Productions 2008

Cathleen and Chris!

“For is not music a language? And of what is it the language? Is it not the language of the dream world, and the world beyond thought?”
Robertson Davies, The Lyre of Orpheus

The Lion and the Lamb

A wide grass plain
Bakes under a searing sun.
An elephant trots, a giraffe sways,
A zebra bolts, a tiger leaps.
Behold, the lion sees the lamb.

A hyena shrieks, a rhino rushes,
A snake slides, a crane glides,
A vulture gazes, a gazelle darts,
The parched soil thirsts.
Behold, the lion hunts the lamb.

Above the plain a mountain rises.
Storm clouds shroud her distinction.
Turning inside out, she melts her collar.
Ice drips down the sides of her cone.
Behold, the lion catches the lamb.

The earth splits with a humble sigh.
The mountain crumbles over the broken plain.
The withered grass whispers silent sobs.
The moon disappears into a starless sky.
Behold, the lion licks the lamb.

A canary sings a clarion call.
The pastel dawn hosts one shear cloud.
White sand shifts under aqua tides.
In the shadows, an orchid opens.
Behold, the lion lies down with the lamb.

Catalina

Cathleen and Chris

"As matters now stand with me I am no longer spurred to creative effort by ambition, but by the urge to communicate with my friends and the wish to give them pleasure: whenever I know this urge and wish to have been satisfied, I am happy and content." Richard Wagner, in a letter to Franz Liszt