Whitmanian Divinity

September 16, 2012
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Fingers of sun reach out
Sprays of salt, and waves, and froth fly
The lone bird floats and flaps

Against the palette of
Pink emptiness,
Stretched clouds,
And purple shadowed
Swirled seas

Sparkling blue,
Oh sparkling blue
Omnipresent in a shimmering world

Verdantly vibrating,
So alive is this forest
Perching parrots call out
“This is the goal”

Whispers travel
Bending and swishing,
Stems of grass
Divine light seems everywhere

Let free arms embrace the violent clearness, the air, let the wind
Turn you
Feel the lapping of the waves (of water, of grass, of song, who knows)
Lulled eyes see the landed swallow’s emitted calls
Where have I smelled this?

Return and descend
From distant gates
And tall dreams
To unfolding spring
Leave fleeting troubles frantically flapping
And so “heaven” can be reached
Just use a mortal’s wings

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