Tanner Brockwell

there is mystery in our pleasures. the taste and sense. how satisfying, satisfies. how would you be, how would you have. i am pure being, i am now. the dark night, found in illumination, the promise of blue skies. these are like dreams, portents of the potentials we hold so close. there is even yet endless possibilities. i imagine them all. i am imagination.

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the ancient and hue, left are shimmer, gone the glimmer, but green grow oh – green grow. the stars accomplished before their due, like dreams left absent, or dreams most true. i wander by the faintest haze, i wander by, though there are days. the nights are fast, the nights take to you. the dreams are glimmers, yet fade to hue.

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in the morning, when i shake off the dreams, and what was once an imagining. well there i rest a new found smile. there i wait just awhile, scrunching away the sleep. staring into a brand new day. lithe in motion, a form in a whirl, here and there, the morning ritual. so i wake, to take on the morn. so i wake to wondrous joy.

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before leaving, before returning, in the chill morn, when the water falls, and in between the gushing steam. the crease, the flat fabric. the rush of wheels, the rush of wheels. the pounding pulse, a life stream so close so far. if that is all you are, if that is all you are. why torment. why sequence. but evenly, nay even supremely. curt in repose, a sleep that no one knows. still finds a path, the longings last. and ever then, or even ever when. i hold so close, yet — yet would let soaring find. the widening desert. the parched deep throat. would waters then, would waters then, falling quench. there is no duality, not if there is you.

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leaves folding in the tumble down headfirst, over again, fall in flight a flight to the ground. aground, not awash, not a sound. but silent as the water keeps, what only the water deep. can as it may, can as it lay. in to the dark night, dark time, the cold rising. chill a dew, not new, but old, from years past. in the bones. in so deep. the memories return, as memory sleeps. and i will fold this time, in to a pocket, in to a sleep.

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the night air lowers cold, the rising damp a chill. there is water near, there are fine lights too. the night lowers as a commotion. spinning in a toply manner. water, water, water.
span this path by narrows bridge your steps so sure will lead you back. the night, the water, the lowered airs. were ever you closer to despair. yet save those who won’t save themselves, like the will-o’-the-wisp would vanish. and dreams and words and murmurs oft. would be gone.

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journey’s are apt to amaze, in their anticipation, the quiet before, the sudden change when you are moving. the journey begun. your mind spinning as you think of the sights you have only read of. this is to be relished. sometimes the journey is a new path in life. perhaps you will not return. or perhaps you will learn something on this path.

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to take time, to take it in, to enjoy the world that surrounds. for all of nature
is here and now and even wonder abounds.

i learned to live, i learned to love, i slept in natures arms. i wish for peace, i wish bliss.

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i knew the dark recess and tossing waves. they were in my bones, the passage unwrit. oh a journey oh. there was the interminable wait, the hardship. the anxious advent before the letters changed. not without precedent, not without friends. the cold hunger pang. one way, one way. one chance, one day, to whisper i have arrived. beneath the star. how very far. to be found so complete before the nights long sleep, and i would wake upon a new land.

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