Which Is Where We Are Now

I sought and sought
 until it all became
  Hocus Pocus;
 then I realized
  it always was.

A mountain of blue-gray
  looms over the dark horizon
 bouyed by a soft expanse of pink
  and the delicate, ruddy strip
  of peaceful, glowering foothills

  falling away to twilight

My poppy wildflowers
 recklessly bloom
An enthralling spread
 rushes past the ego
and quickly covers
 all patches of hate
and sin is a needless
 worry of the past.

Rollicking lilting:
an unseen young woman’s
 chortle haunts my ears.
Angelic chuckling softens my heart.
Occasionally, in a swooning despair,
 I lean out the window
 to blindly seek her face, the fount,
 only to be splashed 
 with a fresh outpouring of cherubic mirth.
Assured, languid, bright, content —
 all I’ve wanted to experience in a woman.
Intermittent eternal trumpet of joy —
tittering with gusto —
driving me up to heaven.

Taut vines
now sway
lolling in the breeze
weeping with joy

Bless this beautiful mess

Others put on dressy lies.
Your style is ready-to-wear
 for a palace.

The swordsman beheld the sword.
His blood called to it.
It sliced him,
singing.