Poems of the Sage

imageNest of the Moon
Sound of the dry weeds,
Scent of the purple sage . . . Sits.
Rolling hills, deep gorge.
Through spirited paths of green,
Where ghosts dwell and the moon nests.

Sage Smoke
Growing between stones,
 Gray and green.
Touched by fire,
 Thick white smoke billows.

Rise
Chants within white smoke,
 Magic moves in secret ways.
Abalone shell,
 Pale wisps rise and shape a world.
 The dead will speak, now listen. 

Spring
Spring arrives, purple
 Blossoms sprout from gray-green leaves,
 Potential within.

Vision
Meditative state,
 Time stops when the dry weed burns.
The visions reveal,
 Women dance in ecstasy,
 Though I sit alone in thought.
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