Eleven years shedding skin

drinking deep from the well of rough training.

Intimate with territories of heart-mind

reserved for orphans, widows, exiles,

no skin remains except lush word-filled silence.


This body in winter:

corpse-like under the blanket of night, dreaming;

in summer: jaguar-like, soundless, observant, moving through the humid dark.

I ponder what color Chan robe the Spirit of Time will put on these bones,

and even that thought falls away.


Then there are days like this one

when I wonder if, in some parallel reality,

beyond the great hallway of billowing quantum curtains,

there is another version of me

standing on a high hill with another version of you

overlooking a valley

talking about how the flowers

seem to shimmer in the afternoon light.

(c) 2017 / Frank LaRue Owen / purelandpoetry.com

For more info about French/Malagasy ethno-ambient musician Ujjaya, visit either his Facebook Page or Soundcloud Page.