The Partition
by Joe Edwardson

Prickly tree partitions of false intuition
separate questioning souls from verdant orchards
where fruit is believed to grow from truth trees
and every moment a windfall.


Wide-eyed will-o-the-wisp winkings
reflections of a bog's mirror properties.
Questioning souls shift uncomfortably on possibly
rotting log, drinking wine, dreaming of the other side.


They attempt to trump doubt and tip-toe toward the partition, crunching
dried twigs of conifers knocked down by past climbers.
Then a fragrance manifests its sweet properties of fruit
through floating nasal cavities to the new soulbodymind.


This new inner function of soul floatation raises questioning souls 
like nature's fugue played by an orchestra of something extra, over the
partition of false intuition, to an orchard of treetops that breathe
not truth but universal consciousness, togetherness.


Our newfound soul brethren breathe low, grin sleepily, and nap upon 
lush treetop embraces that taste like a chosen enlightenment.
It is now time to sleep somewhere between sheets of stars and trees. 
Entities of astral energy (you and me) dream a game of soul tag


under watchful eyes of Father moon and Mother nature.