The soul is not a land-locked entity.
It can grow feathers.
Given a scent trail of tea or rice wine
sweetgrass or rose jam
and the one that has me
can follow the aroma of soil
to where the feast of ancients is still happening in a cathedral of pines.
I do not know the solutions
to this world's great ailments of pain and power run amok
but I do know the way of the feathered soul
and I sit like a watchful child
as mine takes wing
and flies into things
and comes away with greater understanding.
(c) 2017 / Saizan Owen / Pure Land Poetry
To learn about the music of Saif Al-Khayyat and Nora Thiele, explore their collaboration Ahlam Babiliyya
image: "Nani with Leaves - Portland, Oregon" by Douglas Beasley