High upon this hill, blue an green
My heart races in balm of drizzle,
I taste the seas' shimmers, crofts,
The turf and tobacco betwixt rain
Travel from my village to mind me
That this be an ancient landscape,
I inhale deeply damp Clannish air,
Have come to know winter peace
And all is golden in fey softy days,
In the scours of lamb scented sun.

Do not call a moth
A butterfly
Despite the beauty you see
Or wish to see
The moth is a moth
Either you accept it
Or let it fly away.

I offer you this innocence,
come on in,
condemnation
judgement
vitriol
are left on the other side
of the walls of skin.

Hearts may open here
tears may tumble
walls may fall
in this moment between you and me.

We will offer
truths and tenderness
for every imagined sin.

Life's a puzzle
the pieces are in
earthquake shambles scattered
across the floor.
There are places for each puzzle piece
to put together,
we may even find bliss.

Sometimes this life is too complex
too hard to fathom
too easy to plummet,
we all need a place to
explore
unload
forgive.

This is the innocence
feel free to come on in,
your secrets are safe here,
never told by me.

It has been said
we are as sick as our secrets,
burrowing through our eyes
in dark packets of disguise.
But in this sanctuary
lies dissolve
innocence returns,
We find a chance to begin again.

Put down the masks
Put down the resentments
Put down the propped up sorrows
Our truths will set us free.

The door is open
the glowing warmth of connection
is at your disposal,
come speak to me
the accumulated hurts of where you have been,
through these true confessions
hurts pass
not forgotten
but
forgiven.

We can begin again.

The puzzle pieces lost
will be found,
compassion and forgiveness
become our friends.

Abandon all pasts
seen through a child's eyes,
in this time of now
we can become cozy
snuggle up in this warm bath embrace.
Sometimes we all need a place to hide
in all the necessary pillows and comforters.

Either in words or in silence,
we'll find that spot of transformation,
begin again,
once you enter this innocence,
from the tangle
as birds well know,
we can fly free again.

Three parts treasure hunter
to two parts scientist,
the archaeologist
with picks and brushes
sifts through shards and ruins,
echoes of ancestral time,
burning for answers:

How on earth did we manage
to carve out shelters from the crust
tilting the scales
of survival in our favor?

A cliff house here, a cathedral there
a village by the river
chronicling our escape from
the shadows of pre-recorded time.

We wonder where they all went
and why they vanished, but the real question
that haunts our paleolithic selves,
is who are we and where are we going?

*October 30, 2015