All the things of this world come and go,
like infinite seasons riding a fine Arabian horse
through the ancient forests of dream and sleep.
As soon as I know something, it moves on
and I am again on the quest
for a grail of an answer.
There is no rest in this world,
only moments of soft breathing.
The heart in my chest beats day and night
to the rhythm of some distant dance.
There are a million stars
in one baby’s breath-
so why send a rocket to the moon?
Asking certain questions is better
than finding other answers.
Snow embraces pine needles
without saying hello.
I want to say less, do more,
and feel good about it.
I want to be the snow.
I want to soak in the aroma of the pines,
forget my name,
and bathe in the cold moonlight of December.
When I mount my horse,
cup in hand,
cover me in baby’s breath.
