
Through a forest
and over mountains,
across desert canyons
and beyond the curve
of cerulean horizon,
lives a home –
a secluded grove
nestled between the
pages of reality,
alive with
secretive dreams
and abandoned things –
lives a pocket landscape
of infinite potential
and branches open wide
to the sun/moon/stars,
to their rhythm of life
and song of death.
Here, there is room
for us both and
room for us all.
Every version of you,
every version of me,
every before and after,
every seasonal shift and
metaphysical connection
lives through the forest
and over the hills,
across an ocean
and beyond a desert.
There live goats
standing on stumps
eating humorous things.
There lives a garden growing.
There live the cheeses aging.
There live the bees buzzing.
There lives the
stillness of sunrise,
high noon’s majesty,
a sleepy afternoon,
the mournful sunset’s
spiritual wonder,
and the solitude of
a midnight room.
There lives the mirror lake,
still as glass and
quiet as time,
reflecting the best
ideas whispered through
an emerald forest
reflecting on its
matters of loss
and love.
There live the winding walks
on enchanted paths of
soft decaying pine,
fragrant as Christmas memory.
There lives the poetry unborn,
the words unfulfilled
and desires unnamed.
There lives breath without lungs,
gasp without voice,
shock without fear.
There live the muted moments
hidden between
rolling mountains
and peace of mind,
promising that
although today
is nearly over,
tomorrow is
practically forever.
Renee Novosel
All Rights Reserved
Copyright 2015