Winged Transient Meditation on Flight
Gliding on the wind takes time
to learn, to observe, to adjust.
Gliding on the wind is hearing
music. In layers and spirals
much like people’s thoughts
and actions too are reflections
like seasons change the colors of leaves
The miracles of life and death are
music, in layers and spirals.
Circular falling patterns, sometimes
blown to the ground prematurely
by drifting musical reverberations
stuck in the mud of explanations
to a carnival sideshow, that all
action is necessarily reaction.
In truth
It might be that all reaction is
distraction.
Gliding on the wind takes time
Taking off is always a bit
scary. The ground falls from
you, so quickly
you feel you can’t breathe
your eyes cloud with tears
you’re deaf to all but the
sounds of your
heart and lungs stretching
to the point of. . .
Darkness.
. . . Ascension. . .
I weigh nothing, just a
mortal form.
The container of my prior
extinguished,
gliding on the wind is
hearing music.
played by the master’s
hands.
Each note a draft, a cloud
is a song.
Circular falling patterns. Landing is
Reincarnation- a mocking trick conjured
to distract from the inevitable flight of
a winged transcendent
of life spans. Seconds sure to be
erased by time, measured
only by the number of leaves
drifting toward disintegration at any given moment.
Copyright ©2008 Bogdan Ciochinaru