Storm Spirals
on karmic loops, letting go, life and death cycles.
Reluctant to relinquish,
tightly clenched,
to the smell of forest woods,
moody and molded by mud,
desperate to distinguish,
the sky from the ocean,
~
the clouds form spirals,
mirror tidal waves for miles,
submerged in looping tendrils,
blur of pine and mist that blinds,
menacing with moisture,
the slow drip,
delicate structures rusting away,
as all forms are lost,
I feel my own decay,
~
my body of water,
dissolving as shadows cast spells,
heavy cotton balls,
purple hues,
collecting condensation,
spinning in my cells,
through rigorous rotations,
I am moved,
~
purified by moonlight showers,
wash me clean of clinging,
never mind it pouring,
another cycle to devour,
even within mourning,
I become the douglas fir,
the salt and sea,
allow me to lose myself,
in the storm spiral hours,
where there’s nothing missing.
Olivia , again .. beautiful!
Olivia, this really touched me. It felt simple and real, like something you don’t just read but step into.
These lines especially stayed with me:
“I become the douglas fir,
the salt and sea,
allow me to lose myself,
in the storm spiral hours,
where there’s nothing missing.”
They reminded me of Metamorphoses—how Ovid wrote about gods becoming trees. That same quiet merging is here.
Thank you for this.