the reason we don’t
go spinning into
space as the world turns
they say is gravity
as though being weighed
down is what does it
we sat around the
dinner table with
one who wrote a book
that mattered to Ginger
and was held in place
by the power of words
we helped serve dinner
at the shelter with friends
for folks weighed down
but still spinning away
and offered a tether
in our breaking of bread
we burst in on belly
dancers down at the pub
of all shapes and sizes
writhing for a room full
of friends who found who
resonance in the rhythm
what matters most is
weightless — gossamer
grace or glee – you know:
old trails of love and tears
fresh new lines to trace
held on to not held down
Peace,
Milton
ahhh, milton, such nice work … pure, simple, yet robust & bursting with flavor (flavor = meaning, natch …) – reminds me of a fine blue cheese, or one of the Spanish oveja cheeses, so simple up front & yet the complexities of all creation lurk just beneath & behind the surface … you have inspired me to head home & do some writing of my own; & is that not the greatest of all compliments?
i miss you … & yet the knowledge of your existence sometimes fills me to the bursting point …
peace,
mitch