Bothell In Meditation

An overworked Sun sank himself In twilight red wine Bothell sat to meditate As birds retired, stopped singing It was a musky dusk of August Somewhere in the darkening woods A solitary bleeding heart Burnt incense Honeysuckles drooped in prayer Evening traffic roared On the roads in haste Throbbing arteries of Bothell But, despite the apparent roar She found silence Sat rooted in herself Like a ship that has dropped the weight of its anchor Into the bottom of bottomlessness Unburdened melting away In the hue of an ethereal sunset Conifers of different genres Scaled against the glow Of the dying day Into the void Like thoughts that are just witnessed Without being followed Vanish like flames that seek And die in the air of nothingness Oaks stood ruminating Their gigantic frames Seeking the essence of inner evanescence Birches, maples, dogwoods, firs Stood in hushed silence Finger on their lips In attendance, ever attentive Before their meditating madam Bothell sat meditating Lost in herself The seed from which sprouted All that happened around Trees, sky, the scent of flowers The evening hue and the stars Like a colorful umbrella that unfolds On to existence from nothingness At every batting of the eyelids