“Belief is clinging; faith is letting go.” — Alan Watts
by Harry Calhoun
walking a dirt road and the light plane
soars heavier than the thin coverlet
of light blue sky over the grave ground
and I think of when I am beneath all this
one with the centuries behind me
unconcerned with the eons ahead
and I begin to fashion a notion
built on the spirits of trees
and the collective consciousness of animal instinct
and in the warm light of day
I weave my own myth
from the fabric of dark sky and stars
one with the centuries behind me
and the eons ahead