by June 19, 2011 0 comments

Slinking down like negligee,
a cloud slid from the moon.
On the water
I could see the reflection
of your shadow,
naked to your soul.
Our reflections now one,
we fell to the satiny earth…
They rose from our mirror,
the mayflies,
nymphs of the water,
now angel-winged,
thousands upon thousands,
a cloud
boiling in the sky,
each seeking a perfect mate
in the dance of life,
in the game of death…
Below, I too soared,
swallowed the light,
and surrendered.

editors note:

A choice must be made: The dance of life or the game of death; no matter how madly lovely nature is, it cannot compare the madness we—the judges of aesthetic, the beholder of beauty—feel. When we (hopefully) daily wander like lonely clouds, what happens when we find what we wander to so wondrously? “MAYFLIES” tells a tale of a world that can never be up or down—it’s just a constant Swirl. – tm

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