Here we are

cut from the same cloth of stars.

Ribbons of memory and aching

fallen from the celestial village above.


Flowing with longing,

looking for a soft place to land,

how many years have we been wandering like this?

The monotony of the road caused me to forget.


Only now can it be seen

that some years are all about stripping away;

stripping away what has been

to make room for what will be.

Herein lies true recognition.

Herein lies the sloughing off of old skin.

Herein, Mother Time is edging us toward a jumping off place.


At year's end, we find ourselves waking;

transformed from aching strangers in the dark

to emboldened markers of blessing answering the call of the wind.

(c) 2017 / Pure Land Poetry / Frank LaRue Owen (Wandering Stone Lantern) /

sound: Muichi Motsu, Maneki Neko