a tiny window gathers the world echoes morning’s rush of life amazingly, my fingers trace your carved shoulder like they have never known geometry somebody somewhere is getting coffee, walking the dog, dressing for a long day – but not we, whose worlds have just collided under the gaze of a tiny window that no one is looking through because we are beyond...

(Note, the Blackfoot people have a process-oriented language, which is much more strongly verb-based, while English and most other languages are object/noun based.) A friend of mine asked: Do the Blackfoot people go through a phase where they need to have conceptual boxes, and then learn to transcend the need to reify these artificial demarcations,...

what spirit speaks the heart re-echoes its lofty chambers with choric ringing  twist and fold in timely rhythm the fountain's deep moods springing   unshadowed now, revealed and waking all forge and fire, veils rent aside the swallowed sun, see! - beaming again 'cross the rivers, stride in stride the call's heard round from distant shores the ferryman's change cast far away for the...