The Harvest (draft)

He casts a wide net today .....

Details initially, finding clues and directions on the secrets of the Way

In notecards, in files, and in movement, the angle of a foot, as Water rushes its courses

Then Voices, first speaking, shuttling words through the sieve of judgment

Hearing sounds and speech as streams of roaring wind tearing or moaning

Between branches in vast forests that stand somewhere, all covered with whipping snow

Actions, sins, gain, harm, generosity, coming into the threshing machines, being ground

On the floor of the shadow of a boiling sun - seen without a dream

But this is indelicate, and it misses.......

Women, far flung, brought home, so that one Woman could be born, on both sides

Of the membrane of the Self - women pressed like grapes into a Wine that becomes

A morning drink, which a footsoldier drinks, embracing his wife in a simple hut prior to Battle

And she won't see him again

The pearly outline of a body in a vision, lips tracing its smoothness, breasts, hips

Apples, rain

Bringing all Women into the home, to build a home with one of them before sunset

And ideas.......................

Ideas, and feelings, and views.

Hindu gods thundering across dusted plains in chariots with golden wheels

Mary Magdalene and Christ seated somewhere under shading bowers

Her pearly, tiny hand, grazing along the veins of His wrist, their eyes One vision

The palace door closing, in the Shadows, Buddha walks forward, just a man ready to create a World

Caravans of Mohammed, indistinct in the blaze, resting, fighting, finding Water

In the Harvest ..........

The morning is grey

Chopin reaches to tug my heart out

And ahead, who can see the path?