Sonnet for Denise

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Her third eye

hidden like blurred trees in drifting snow lie

beneath a halo of auburn hair

doe eyes she stands

with woolen design

upon her narrow line.

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Her open eye

indigo reflection of weeping sky

escapes the kidnapping , soft smudge she stares

in curiosity a mouth of crimson smears

a curving branch

upon eyes trance .

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a brow arched

her soul is risen .

Please listen till the end … It’s so very beautiful !

The Narrators Journey

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He is in love with one woman and lives with another . He notices too much , feels everything not knowing just how to filter it fast enough . And his ( Alec ) memories , well , they were strange and wonderful , his mind like that of a Scythian goldfish document box where the origins of a culture gave rise to the Amazon legends and where thoughts of Francis existed . He told me he wondered if he had done the best thing in telling her she could be happy with Paulo . And then , she not only really listened but stayed with the photographer one cold night just before planet Mercury started moving backwards , it’s reverse motion , an illusion . This is a story about how good we as humans are at striving to know beyond what we can see . Love , beauty ,God … a pattern of flower petals thru the winter sky .

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She stunned herself in accepting Paulos plea and upon entering up his stairway , removing her hiking boots , she walked in a tentative way and approaching the main room she paused to consider it … statutes of the Buddha , birdcage from Thailand , heavy dark framed paintings on the pine walls , antique lamps , one of jade embellished with rubies , an ornately decorated mirror , round and as large as the rising full moon , unfinished photos and books on a desk carved with elephants , gleaming glass oil lamps and a very large picture window . She paused with a slight gasp as if it were challenging her to leap across a frozen creek .   ” Love is as warm as tears “, she thought remembering what Alec had told her , thinking about him as she walked barefoot on the cool floors of thread bare carpets .  Was this what she really wanted , this man , this house , this life with someone ? Life always moves towards greater order and the vibration that is creation is always a flickering back and forth . That on and off felt surprising to Francis , like watching a man shoveling the deep snow from his front walkway , wearing only a worn cotton silk suit coat and wing tips . Life doesn’t happen to us , rather , we create it from inside out and because this is a most powerful truth , it has behind it all the creative energy in the universe . So here she found herself in Paulos rooms , unknown to her as yet the bed , a life raft into turbulent waters . She didn’t believe in magic , but lived as if she did . But beware , the phantom planet Vulcan might be found to influence Mercurys orbit … yes , Mercury where the craters are named for artists … Shakespeare , Hemingway , John Lennon , Alvin Ailey and Kahlil Gibran too .

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Well , it seems to me that the best relationships , the ones that last , are rooted in friendship . You know , one day you look at a person and you see something more than you did the night before . Like that switch has been trembling somewhere . And the one who was just a friend is suddenly the only person you can ever imagine yourself with . I hoped this for Francis … but wished she would take off that nomadic green dress she always wore with everything … green is a fugitive and unstable pigment . She could be willfull , irresistible , lovable , stubborn , extreme , quirky , obsessive and ultimately unpredictable . And Paulo , well he had many complexities in his world . He saw Francis more as a pilgrimage to experience rather than a woman , his desire to live with her , a gesture of action in a world in which he found more things artificial , wanting a sacred journey with her so that he could change his mediocrasy . She was like a heavenly horse to him , elegant in a pose of stately strength with a beautifully arched neck . If he could capture her with his camera in crisp detail with a slightly open mouth it might be the prized photo he longed for to set apart his vast portfolio . Blessed is the pure white snow for it moistens her face  … I must tell her to be careful . He saw fright on her brow that day when she entered his rooms after saying “maybe” to staying with him . He told me what he said to her , ” you don’t have to say anything and you don’t have to do anything ” and how this seemed to relax her and how he noticed in her an exquisite detachment from the surroundings as if she were floating in the waters of a lukewarm surf with 10 shades of turquoise ocean instead of the 10 degree of weather outside .

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There is a reality beyond the one we see and there seems to be a blurriness between all the qualities of Divine intention … compassion , love , innocence , humility and it is when you want nothing that everything can be yours . I hoped bliss currents would soon be moving thru my friends hearts . Already their friendships were a tremendous thing . You can’t make that up . Meanwhile , in the parallel universe where perfume sometimes turns into jewels , the scent of Francis’ vanilla hair is like smoke around Alec who sits in silence with thunder hidden inside , writing his book , sometimes glancing up and looking west around the river bend in that winter of winds where Gods eye is on every sparrow . Thinking of Alec , well , he is a gentleman , an outdoorsman , a writer , a lover of food and fine wine , of women , nature and people . He loves fresh crepes and cafe cremes in the hands of gorgeous women at sidewalk cafes , a lover of the simple richness of life . He was able to see how incredibly intricate the simplest things could be and knows that a person becomes more by experiencing something extraordinary .

Moving backwards it remains to be seen if poor Paulo is still in love with his young ex-wife or if all the light we cannot see will be able to illuminate itself in winter , this cold heaven of snow where Mercury floats above , an icon of creativity . It’s a wonderful life for sure . . .

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” And never have I felt so deeply at one and the same time so detached from myself and so present in the world “.     Albert Camus

Music score “Garden” by Sean Hayes … shared by Cyan Ryan at 21 Shades of Blue