Conversations of Balance

The sky has edges. and
they are made of patchwork. silk quilts.
Black light.to the touch. 
 I swum laps in waves of tall bending grass,
at sunset. you almost drown in their red golden.
deepness.
Tree pose.  As an island.
 Closes his eyes and there are two hawks waiting.
for a conversation.
Ravens follow me to the edges. and linger on fence posts. 
If you can speak the language of stillness.  Now is the time!
For an entire song.  Or.  Until your legs break.
 from underneath.  
His fingers stretch in perfect. threads to the sky.lines
to the center of the moment.
-----She says:  "yes, balance does exist..   yes."   it does.   
And it grows towards him..
He believes in the subtleties; black birds swaying on.on powerlines.
E VEN LY.  spaced.   
He believes you must become a thing to see it.  s
unfathomable angles.  
it. s   necessity  and majesty.
All living things tremble outwards towards him,
reclaiming their
balance




Andrew Tipton