Another Time

Help, away from here from where you are
never been to where you’re going to
free from earth, light and soaring
and let the stillness bear you up
and down.
When I was young
lying in the grassy field
at times the same place where deer had lain the night before,
gazing at the sky
We told each other stories about the cloud people.
Without start or stop, 
we did not understand
the stories were about us.
Our dreamings, seemings,
spirited awakenings that led us 
more to wonder.
And in the end we left them
for a time
to sweeten, ripen, grow.
For longings carried with us need to be
reclaimed as much as do rememberings.
This poem was written years ago and discovered recently tucked away in a book.
For the related story that emerged January 19, 2014, see
The Cloud People at


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