Talking around the Sun

First, this is not mine to write about.
But
what happens to me
what my eyes see
what shapes me
is mine.

Words won't budge.

So I'm left a little wordless
a little stranded outside of the kind of time that links up like
sturdy lego bricks, hours stacking tidily into days, days neatly lining into weeks.

Sundance time is in the grass.
The grass is an ocean.
The waves surge and bend and say hush
Or when you get up close, the tall midsummer grasses crackle, the seeds shuddering in their little pods.

Opened doors, crosses portals.
Some walls are torn down and others built again.
Lightning crackles across the surfaces, birds and flying creatures cross the barriers with impunity.
They invite us into trusting the portals.