a handful of dreamdust

it's 3 am.
the stars are out..i am out..
gandering at the night sky
to scan an answer from the empyrean
the coyotes
have been frolicking
and yelping since midnight..
new moon
juneteenth..
solstice..
no wonder sleep gives me the slip..
and now.. just now..
the roosters have started their early morning
crooning and cock-a-dooning ..

what is that
poem
by langston hughes?

gather out of star dust
earth dust
cloud dust 
storm dust
and splinters of hail
one handful of dream dust
not for sale

and i wonder..full of wonder..
not so much that i don't love enough..
yet wonder... full of wonder..
if i speak it out enough..
telling all i love..
and maybe even some i don't
that yes, indeed, i do love you
enough to tell you..
to tell the all and every
of my tally of loved ones..
i love you..
so maybe it's not that we don't love enough..
it's that we must declare it..
in any way
in a myriad of ways
in allways
in everyway ~

everything that breathes is hungry
                         ~ gary snyder

what is it we are hungry for..?
what whets this swelling appetite ..?
it must be love, you think?

hafiz says ~
with that moon language

admit something:
everyone you see, you say to them, "love me."

of course, you do not say this out loud -

still, though, think about this, this great pull in us to connect.

why not become the one who lives with a
full moon in each eye that is
always saying,

with that sweet moon language,
what every other eye in
this world is
dying to 
hear?

the candles have burned low,
the night sky has shapeshifted
to dawn this laudable day..
the aire is full of chirpings..
robin, rooster, frogs a' freeping..
hummingbirds queue up on the clothesline
and await their turn to slurp the syrup
from their red round diners..
swallows sweep the blue yonder
to feed the yawning mouths of young..
stardust fades to dreamdust ~
these are the days and this is time
to speak out from the arrow in our hearts
let's not waste another moment..
now is the time - this is the place


how do i love thee? let me count the ways.
i love thee to the depth and breadth and height
my soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
for the ends of being and ideal grace.
i love thee to the level of every day’s
most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
i love thee freely, as all strive for right;
i love thee purely, as all turn from praise.
i love thee with the passion put to use
in my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
i love thee with a love i seemed to lose
with my lost saints. i love thee with the breath,
smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if god choose,
i shall but love thee better after death.
                            sonnet 43 
                            elizabeth barret browing