"You know when you know."

--doña Río

I am above the clouds again
in that luminous realm
where crazy clouds go
to be reminded of the Ensouled Vastness.

Far below this emerald peak,
the red dust of the strained world swirls.

In the Province of Forgetting,
the people assemble for strange rituals
of blood and soul-letting.

I'll be there soon enough, again;
but, until then, I am content
to sit like a mountain
and contemplate this
great mystery of mysteries:

How some roads,
despite their beauty
their vistas
their treasure-in-wait,
are not ours for the traveling

while in other corners of the province
two beacon stars that have
ached their way across the cosmos
have finally found within the other
a nourishing fire.
© 2018 / Frank LaRue Owen / purelandpoetry.com

sound: "Seven Coronas" / Letters to the Farthest Star, Forrest Fang