Kirpal Gordon

Find us in smoke & fog, the Old Ones say, find us in mirror & mirage.  Find us waving in a field’s barley wheat under cerulean skies meeting melted sun streaks.  Find us in dough’s rise, in crusts of barley bread broken, baked in hearth’s augured heat.  When breezes lift a magnolia blooms’ red petticoat, find it unfurls into hummingbirds of ruby throat.  With the light just right we’re but stardust’s essence in phosphorescence & in their wing span ocean-spun fins open to dinosaur limbs as your limbs open to your children. 

Where a golden horn’s notes fall in a red-hued wood skylarks glide on the wind’s upswings & swallow seeds indigestible to feed a forest complete: not for granted would we sing through things so infinitesimal in hide-&-seek.  Join us on the gusts for wherever you open in understanding we are: the rain on the rise, the bread on the stove, the curve of a bird’s wing meeting the bend in the road & as the sea swallows the sun, find us in the shape night takes against a moonglow’s ebb & flow already shining this blue within you.