(“Italian Dawn “, Jane Kohut-Bartels, watercolor, 2003)
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Morning’s roseate sky
Has been blasted away,
Branches now whirligigs
Swirl with a fierce southern wind
As windows rattle in frames.
A tattered umbrella
Shades from a relentless sun.
I listen to Bhava Yoga
The vibration of Love,
Where imagination meets
Memory in the dark.
Yet surrounding these soothing tones
The world outside this music
Conspires to disrupt, sweep away
All thought, reflection.
The fierce wind gets my attention.
I can not deny its primal force.
Still, the pulse of Bhava Yoga
Draws me within,
Feeds imagination with memory,
Calls forth something as enduring as the fury outside,
And I feel the pulse of the infinite.
We are like birds,
Clinging with dulled claws to
The swaying branches of life.
Copyrighted, 2014 (from Pitcher of Moon, Amazon.com, 2014)