Every once in a while I feel it,
Slippage through a chink of actuality
Into a pinhole passage of the phenomenon,
To know . . . I am dancing.
I walk across the rift
To see . . . I am dancing,
I am waltzing with splendor as my partner.
I sally. . . . I whirl . . . . at times, I even prance
Upon the knolls of God's intent.
Lush, the hills, with bush and brush,
Grass and grain set in soil
And every once in a while I feel them,
I know them
To take root in my soul.

Every once in a while I wear it,
Upon my back a dress of flaxen rags.
In the moment that I stumble over the divide
I wear . . . . I embellish
The light in the darkness.
Throwing my arms in madness,
I am dancing in the gowns of consciousness.
A blink . . . . a flutter . . . . at times, a deep breath
Held beneath the waterfall.
Deep, my feet, sink into the earth.
The moss seeks my heart.
And every once in a while I know it,
I hear it
The reply sounding over the myst.

jeanne rene 1/04