Envision a trembling
hand within, holding
a mirror to inner life...
this goes everywhere
with us.
Yet you are everywhere,
consider the paradox...
inner life proves its
transcience as it passes
through us...we're
unquantifiable.
We're both larger,
and smaller than life.

The body clings
to the image it
was cast in...
forgetting the
image it is
cast in.

Everything crosses
paths...stars.
Silver sanctuaries...
whose ages wax gold.
Filigrees granting a
sun that sees...
****** venerations.

Isn't it strange
how seasons
show us we
have outer
responses
to inner ones.
The more bare
the landscape
becomes... the
more we layer.
The more lush
the landscape
becomes, the
more we shed
layers.
It's as if we live
in reverse...just
to mend the
schism of mind
and body.

Leaves...
free falling
butterflies,
riding sacred
exhalations...
seamless from
earth to air,
air to earth.
Winter will
be bare.

If a moment
may truly have
of itself, the
mind becomes
infatuated with
consciousness.
Caressing its Face--
repeating: I can't
believe you're real...
and I'm not.

A tunnel is
the blackout
space for
supreme
realization.
End to end...
beginning to
beginning...
middle to
middle.