If you ever lose heart and the earth seems as distant as stars fading into the noise of your busy mind, know this. That a tiny island exists in the blue hands of the ocean. That a tree grows upright into the salted clouds. That two eagles love each other enough to spend their lives greeting the morning sun together. That two eaglets stand in their nest, gazing at the heavens. Looking down to the forever ground. They eat and sleep and flap their wings. And one day in July, one by one, they will jump into the air. They will know the difference between existing and what is beyond. They will hold onto nothing. The hurricane will come, courage catching their pinions on fire, as they mount the wind, climbing ladders into realms of the invisible.


--T.L. Stokes






Tuesday, December 20, 2011

blindness is a horse




Blindness is a horse
before it arrives,

the mesmerizing song of hoof beat
vibrating across the field;

how the grass parts
suddenly,

and moss, kicked up
into chips of black sparks

dancing away.

Dark is not dark
if you remember,
though the eyes are blind,
the heart can see,

and fog is not fog
except for clarity,
the space of air before
and above,

bordering
the softness.
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