...My indebtedness levels...
~me~
on this Playing Field.
Everything registers...
because every vibration's
overqualified.

I'm an idiot...without being
self-deprecating, Socratic, or
sensational--I state this.
My intelligence is Everywhere...
but that very intelligence
refuses vehemently to be
in vogue.
When I hoard the intelligence
which is Everywhere...I
somehow lose it...I become
an idiot.
I'm reminded of what is
effortless...therefore True.

...You don't have to come
anywhere near me...just
to dance our self-evidence.
I Am always dancing with
you informally...the
formalization of Our dance
is a realization Open to you...
pre-post-intellect.

Eyes there are...searching the Unknowable
Face, as for the inviolate intimacy of
reflection.
The momentary consequence of existence,
as image concerns image...desolate
perception has gotten lost amongst these.
Faithless certitude where from what may
be put to light and plucked from it...for
that which is not seamless stands opposable.
Thus...reflection encourages transparency,
relinquishes fortitude, this our disparity
is searchable.
Were that seasons would quarrel amongst
themselves, what is known of a year would
be cast out of time.
Eyes there are...searching the Unknowable
Face, as for the inviolate intimacy of
reflection...space upon the deep of space.
...Perforated by light that is its continuum...
eyes there are searching the Unknowable Face.

Mum is The Word of the rock...
none by night, eyesore by day.
Such is the patience of The Architect...
on Opening Day.
Pick up that rock...cast is through
the glass of consciousness...
if you hear a shattering...
it's just resistance.

There is peace to be made with
this irretrievable beauty...
a seeming hands-off policy
of inmost heart.
We're implored to take this seeing
with us...for this life that must
be seen through.
This is how the promise of more
furthers itself...a call to eternal
life--the only way peace may be
made with this irretrievable
beauty.

Light knocks skyward...the world opens
unto itself.
One immense illumination felled--
despite ourselves we find shadows
outstretched...rationed eclipses to
ground.
The light of the world secreted...
becoming ominous upon thee.
Motioning, as if haling the soul's
transport...the living seem untimely.
As an arm raised to the wind to better
feel of it, discern direction--a handful of will.
We pull one another from moments...
and in that pulling agree that time has
passed.
We wear a mind of welcome--to make
our way through what's forbidding.
Light knocks skyward...the world opens
unto itself--we were meant to move and
be moved by its embedded cognizance.
Till love has become of us, and the light
of the world we are...undone.
For that which knocks must be answered.