The Full Moment

And none of this hits 
the mark - I aim 
and fire and the 
shot goes wide.

I want to say 
conglomeration and 
the replete.   I want to say 
gathering

and not quit.   I want 
to speak of less and 
grit, of fear at the 
heart, of lack and

the full moment - but 
it is so hard to 
gather all of that 
and make it make

sense.   My brimmingness, 
my peace surplus 
does not hold words 
well - it is a

purity that defies 
expression, a glancing 
light of charged 
water divested of

impurities, filtered and 
filtered of its contents 
until it clarifies, is 
glittering

in its light, its 
eye of pearl.    I am well 
but I was ill.   I am 
strong but I was

withering.    I have grown 
from weakness 
to be cleansed of my 
distress.    This is




a vast clear pool of 
silent water shining 
smooth and wide 
and at its quiet heart sits a

cluster of buds pink 
and tight, holding-in their 
secrets until the 
right flowering time

arrives.  I am water and
all eyes - the potential
for lilies - for shiny green leaves
like plates and soft white
 
petals unfurling like cupped hands 
on the water, at whose hearts 
a host of goldeneye wait
to stand and sing

their transfiguring.

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