Of the Ocean's Blue Pearl Mouth

[Guest guest]

The sound of this rain will not translate into wordsheard; not a

pitter patter pattern can I fathomor form into a sound I can pound or

pindown to the ground my poet's clear earis pressed wet against; not

onomatopoeically, notin a rat-a-tat tapping tempo can I tameor tongue

into ear-bone tympanic tonesknown or nuanced … this rain.I am awakened

to an alertnessin everything around me, the rain sounds,the pure-birth

of the first anything splashing down,a townshipped tenderness, a

country of innocent world,a universe of words heard in the unnamable

sounds,unfoundered at the bottomlessnessof the ocean's blue mouth

pearl…This fluid movement in the all alongness momentof "I Am Alone"

has become the koanof generational me, the endless nightof

Light-seekers, I Am, igniting hearts in sentientsoundless mouths…

 

God sodding the searchlight streaksof this falling rainwith the wet,

wet wonder of wordless,without translation, rain, saying surely,"This

Is My Name."Tremble-drops plop and combinate vibration,make the

shoreline-mind timedto the soundof the roundnessof insiderable zero

in template head-tectonics...and the moon lies floating on her great

blue back,water-traveling time in the silver river falling

stillnessspilled in the nameless raindrop faces racing,tracing along

the spine of endless light, thisdark and unlittened night --A silence

speaks as bright mind quivers…Acquiescence, amplitude, Ishwatara, I

the Skyrivered away in the reflection soundsof rain,beautiful,

unsayablerain.

 

 

 

 

 

Love,

 

Mazie