trusting tether eternal
tabernacles of spring
unpretending...
simply beautiful
as always
~tl~

Spiritual nomad wandering
lonely ancient paths, seeking shelter from a storm...
some shape in the gloom of grey drizzled twilight , who's architectural symmetry speaks of momentary reprise from the damp cold about.
Upon entering this sanctuary of solitude, wandering eye turns to reverent gase, for denuded mystery, demands honored silence......

The shards of a once grasped vessel
lay scattered upon a hidden altar amungst the molding ruins
of a house long forgotten bereft of waking memory.

ahh but still whispering between the cracks of silence,
she speaks......

So around the soft droplets of rain,
nomad listend with his touch,. trembling hands softly etching the shards upon
their lost altar... he fells the words that each sharp or soft edge vibrates

Noble liquid I once bore, I was but earth skillfully shaped
in knowing hands, passionately fired with alchemical care,

And in kilns sweet fire I emerged.
my form delighted, every watery wonderer, every juicy jem, every liquid lover, they all surrendered to me,
taking my shape filling my void...

Brimming over me in till they were wasted on the floor, always to evaporate under the hot sun leaving only stains upon the once brilliant marbleed alter

But at last I am but remembered pieces, of a once one vessel.
Is there worth beyond one form? is my essence an art untamed?
Can I be the mosaic inlay of tomorrow's altar?


Nomad, in sacred surrenderd knowing, washes each shard, gently and carefully arranging them on the altar,
with such solemnity, and sacred ordering, that neither speaks of remembered form or future possibility, just embracing the sacredness of the shared moment.

Spiritual nomad wandering
lonely ancient paths, seeking shelter from a storm...
some shape in the gloom of grey drizzled twilight , who's architectural symmetry speaks of momentary reprise from the damp cold about.
Upon entering this sanctuary of solitude, wandering eye turns to reverent gase, for denuded mystery, demands honored silence......

The shards of a once grasped vessel
lay scattered upon a hidden altar amungst the molding ruins
of a house long forgotten bereft of waking memory.

ahh but still whispering between the cracks of silence,
she speaks......

So around the soft droplets of rain,
nomad listend with his touch,. trembling hands softly etching the shards upon
their lost altar... he feels the words that each sharp or soft edge vibrates

(shards)
Noble liquid I once bore, I was but earth skillfully shaped
in knowing hands, passionately fired with alchemical care,

And in kilns sweet fire I emerged.
my form delighted, every watery wonderer, every juicy jem, every liquid lover, they all surrendered to me,
taking my shape filling my void...

Brimming over me untill they were wasted on the floor, always to evaporate under the hot sun leaving only stains upon the once brilliant marbleed alter

But at last I am but remembered pieces, of a once one vessel.
Is there worth beyond one form? is my essence an art untamed?
Can I be the mosaic inlay of tomorrow's altar?


Nomad, in sacred surrenderd knowing, washes each shard, gently and carefully arranging them on the altar,
with such solemnity, and sacred ordering, that neither speaks of remembered form or future possibility, just embracing the sacredness of the shared sacred now.