New Leaves This Color

The Holy Spirit was talking to me the other
Day about dreams.
He gave me this moon dog,
With a amarillo dogtag shaped like a house.

Her name is Luna.
She is composed of charcoal and sand.
Her fur smells like pepper.
I painted her once.

All my earthly dreams are going to collapse at my feet.
Their flesh will become dust.

And I cannot see.

The more I believe I am found I am lost.
I have confused the smoke with dusk.
My spine does not sleep.

I do not want what I think I need.
And even when I am wise I am foolish.

Everything in this fast, long humanity falls short,
Perfect only because it is transfixed in one fragile hour.

I strive to
Stop the striving long enough
To enjoy

The last of it,

Knowing nothing and everything is coming...
Day after day
In the monotony of
This dying chiming as steady as a clocktower,
Calling through the night,

Anchoring in the wake of morning,
Dragging its feet...
Holding onto what it can no longer see
And hardly picture.

I drag my feet too.
Because I am not ready to live and die yet.
I just want to be small
Like I know how to be.

Because
I'm not
Ready.

---

I sit down to write
And something resembling
Myself sprawls forth onto the page.

I am satisfied because it has been so long
Since I have said anything or
Done anything
Worthwhile.

Every day I wake up,
Collect my gear,
And attempt to scale the same mountain.

About half-way up the illusion shatters
And I realize my striving was all in vain.

I strive for everything at the top.

             ---

There is nothing at the top.

I strive for the nothingness at the top.

I need nothingness more than I need the top.

Nothing remedies my need for nothingness
And
Nothing would remedy my need for everything.
But I can't stop stirring.
And I waste the days.
Because
All is
Vanity.