at Meeting
tumble swiftly
up
from my heart
to my mind
which lay still
in meditation and
in light;
the words are
words I must
needs say.
Their impressions
and their intentions
tumble down toward
speaking,
warm and
soft and
sweet
in my mouth -
upon my tongue,
and against my cheek
like honey I robbed
fresh from my bees
this morning as the
sun rose warm in the
cool January air.
Warm and soft and
sweet because they
tumbled upward from
the heart. A process
that tends the crafting
of right-speaking -
subduing ego
along the way.
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