It is in motion,
moving like a wheel, the riddle
of existence. Let it go.
Drop it! deep into the furnace
of all-that-is, burn it wholly
into nothingness.
I saw it:
it skips in perfect time,
dancing lightly down the yellow brick
dance-floor, flowing pretty like
silky dresses upon the rejections.
Out and in the willowy doors,
revolving like planets, God is
correcting the projectiles
of the primeval, newborn
cosmic space.
I saw it:
it jumps across the autumn leaves,
October running over the cages,
cycling mad over Jack rabbits
like Jack-o-Lanterns igniting the evening
hues, deepening on your cheeks,
orange and melting in the Harvest Moon,
so you free her caged indigo cats
to love them while the earth
still loves you, purple
and glittered like cloud nebula
raising your stars, your cup,
your glass so the Goddess may bless
your sweet head, little child.
I love you. Who loves me?
Who knows?

It is perpetually in motion,
moving like a wheel, the riddle
of existence.