Melt

I yearn for innocent communications, simplicity,
slowness in our words until space takes over
and we know who we are. Until we are that space.

A young white-tail hops in the powdery Utah snow
like the cadence of a Chopin waltz.

A hawk circles overhead in silence, spiraling down
with the flurries.

Hot crimson blood slowly melts its way down to the
earth to meet with us all in time.

There is nothing to do.

Melt.

Melt into the sadness
that brings us together.

Melt into the fear that we share...

Our breath is one, only at different
cadences in the waltz...

Cry.

For there are men who cannot mix their tears into
the great salty ocean of words, coming and going like the
tide of our minds.

The waves of thoughts are not ours, my friend. We do not own them.
They do not own us, and there is nothing to hold on to in this sea, save
our Being, moment to moment.

Slowly the snowflakes cover over the sinking crimson droplets until
it seems it never happened and we can forget our contribution to this
earth.