Less seemingly still,
This mountain will move the mist.
The striking pass above,
A far wind at it’s set right,
An evening soon to be, in joy.

It carry’s on from branch to branch,
Mist to mystery.
Tangle a dreaming dance,
Spot all that’s in amongst,
Leaving light caught up by the wind.

I see the trembling of seasons,
It’s air will only leave it’s change.
A new path, a broken branch,
Move only out the darkness then,
The morning can only inspirer.

A single speck, a piece refine.

Over write this word,
To give it might.
It’s spirit will make it free,
Flight in a charming climate,
It now has a name for it’s birth.

Faced it’s direct hit,
On landing fields.
A buzzing feeling sparks rain,
Feeling the rain, as climbing down,
Hold the web, in strings so long.

All of wanting to hear,
I’ve reached this painting.
Standing in abiding lost,
The beauty speaking in motion,
A change someone composed.

Put your feeling in line.
Grant it hope,
Shake timely dust,
Find a rambling arch,
And it will only be awhile.

©2005, Ron Globe