Teacup, Saucer, Out
Cracked are the fingertips of our soul
With the promise of winter’s cracked fingertips — broken spells of hope — we look to the salve nourishing our soul. Like the art of filling cracks — beast mode tossing another teacup to oblivion — kintsugi prevails with a warm sip of elderberry, turmeric and ginger.
No longer chasing tail — plucking stars from the sky — hoping for something greater.
No longer dreaming of a false reality, begging the winds to spread more cheer.
Sitting in the desert for 40 days — 40 nights — contemplating. All existence. I’ve come to one final conclusion — It All Is.
Turning back the clocks of time — resetting circadian rhythms — hoping to gain more light in darkened times. Falling short of longer days — entering silenced thought. Embrace the shadows drowning tune.
It is time.
Reset the clocks — chapter books — turning pages — spinning our cup with more emphasis on the varied colors etched into the kiln-dried flesh of broken will. We are.
It is time.
~Ani Po
Well, this was not exactly where I thought I was going, but not a bad place to end up — daydreaming on the mountaintops. Thank you Paroma Sen, for the original prompt of daydreaming on the train. Sorry for not staying focused, drifting immediately into the mountains.
