patterns on the wall
shadows of rustling leaves
I can hear their whispering call
watch the swaying of the trees.
a pattern on the porch
shapes on the floor of boards
sun shines like a torch
wind beats back and forth the door.
patterns in the dust
where you stepped today
wind gives one more gust
and blows your footprints away.
there are patterns in my visions
country quilts and Indian weavin's
puppies being born
and for their first times seeing.
a pattern on the hillside
swaying grass and flowers
and like the ocean flowing
the rhythm beats on for hours
the rhythm beats on for hours and hours and hours.
