Mom says poetry is born from magic
and the space of magic, where one
miraculously enters.

Sometimes, I feel I'm on the periphery
of this poetic place looking in.
Sometimes, I have one glowing foot inside.
Sometimes, half way in and half way out,
I feel half spirit, half human.
Sometimes, I find myself inside,
where there is no space, no time.
Words fly out like butterflies in summer.
Satellites set out to discover stars.
Here music, art, nature, science, imagination begins.
A peregrine falcon spies a tree bound squirrel,
a mountain ledge where to build a nest,
a partner circling in the sky, all in a moment.
Infinity happens all at once.
Fog and rivers sing. Worlds collide. Ships sink.
Ancestors speak. Trees talk. Mountains
fall to dust in minutes. Death hovers, Life
accrues. Fear despairs, Love rules.
We are given guidance
with free will to create.

Mom says poetry is born from magic

and the space of magic, where one 

miraculously enters.  I think she is right.