Birds of Paradise

The sea delivers summer again,
dreams roll in and we softly doze.

The days are no longer an enemy,
seasons liberated roll to our feet.

Gone are zombie days, nomad
nights; we are found as elegant.

Birds of Paradise we are become,
feet in the depth, heads in the sky.

Love is the measure of this ground,
mapped by inner eyes wide awake.

Dreamlessly the true men slept,
breathing us in, breathing us out.

Afternoon rain falls in droplets,
the words we speak rebirthing us.

We watch the news neutral now,
knowing it is all perfectly handled.

We create clouds just for our fun,
slipping between palm fronds too.

Shadow is gone and we call out,
come forth, come forth to us all.

Up and down a coast never born,
we find each other and embrace.

Worm holes are our new eyes,
the speed of light our new skill.

In the chambers of each other,
our hearts are become sacred.

You laugh and ask if I dare, I
do, and the storms leave us.

In the end there is no end,
no math to predict the truth.

Our dreams become our friends,
maps of worlds yet to be made.

© John Kadela