A waterfall only has a name
while it falls,
A river only has a name
while it runs.
We flee, drop, lose things – so flawed.
But rain rinses our hair
with its passing name, its fresh.
Feel a river glisten your curls
with rippling rivulets.
Water’s unwavering obligation
to gravity,
it finds the lowest place
and goes there always.
Feel yourself flee, freefall;
believe you will be caught.
Strong arms to hold you
safe at wishing well’s end.
-
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Songs for the Pure of Heart 
beautiful! collage it?
i am honored.
collage it is a great idea!
very evocative way of expressing the openness of the world. each moment of life may have thousands times thousands of names depending on our acceptance of the “thing” we recognize as in front of us. it is not true that our minds fashion reality but it is also not true that they don’t. our need to be pragmatic binds us to forms of seeing that may have outlasted their usefulness. our emotional habits tend to intercept our perception of the world and color our experience in shades of grey.
daniel, i see your response as a poem:
the openness of the world.
each moment of life may have thousands times thousands of names
depending on our acceptance of the “thing” we recognize
as in front of us.
it is not true that our minds fashion reality
but it is also not true that they don’t. our need
to be pragmatic binds us to forms of seeing
that may have outlasted their usefulness.
our emotional habits tend to intercept
our perception
of the world
and color our experience
in shades of grey.
thank you!
so interesting, playing with the spacing and run of the words brings out much meaning. i appreciate that.