This morning there’s a missing goat in the neighborhood.
The plant beside my desk does well, but seems to remain static in its size.
I’ve got written works in the works but nothing ready to be shared. (As if lost goats and small houseplants are noteworthy.)
As I seek words that evoke magic, my eyes rest on the few random quotes staring at me from my desk.
On a card from a friend:
“Some people are so much sunshine to the square inch” – Walt Whitman
On a bookmark from Big Sur:
“The real voyage of discovery consists not in making new landscapes but in having new eyes.” – Marcel Proust
From a sound therapy website I stumbled upon:
“That which you seek, is not outside of you!” – Zacciah
Like shelling on the beach, I gather these finds into my container. Then reach for the treasured conch – The Gift from Hafiz – open to page 259 and trust in serendipity to speak to my soul.
Where does real poetry
From the amorous sighs
In this moist dark when making love
With form or
Where does poetry live?
In the eye that says, “Wow wee,”
In the overpowering felt splendor
Every sane mind knows
When it realizes – our life dance
Is only for a few magic
From the heart saying,
“I am so damn