On the Edge of the Storm

Darkness descends out of time on the edge of the storm.
A single blossom glows, a chill wind sweeps down the mountain.
My heart aches for those far from where I am.
Nothing seems so precious as it is in a moment
Where nothing can be taken for granted.

Shekhina’s Song

Dark wings carry this illuminated body.
Held aloft by shadowed ritual and wordless vows.

It is the darkness that is embellished by the moon’s glowing visage -
An inky sea made tangible but continually transcendent.

A night garden, where each blossom exudes its own hidden nature.
Every nocturnal breath an affirmation of our own mortality.