Bird To Sky

Bird to sky, cloud to earth, the stream of my once lived, once loved, once born beyond and soon returned. Hear my now. Touch my word. Be with me, close and treasured one, this breath.

. . .

Bird to sky

Cloud to earth

The stream of my once lived

Once loved

Once born beyond and soon returned

Hear my now

Touch my word

Be with me

My close and treasured one

This breath

. . .


I ponder whether the words that appear above the first three dots is poetry, prose poetry, or poetic prose. I go on to present these words as a poem...

Prose poetry purports to free itself from music as conceptual art does beauty.

Poetry without music, art without beauty, is as love without feeling. Perhaps for some, this separation is helpful, especially for those who are hesitant or distrustful of their heart, or of another's heart.

For me, the poem which adds the word 'my' to its penultimate line, condenses my time on earth to a few short phrases, and distils the importance of my experience of life as a single breath with those I love.