sometimes i cast myself back to that night
when the thing i so easily named Self
was wrenched out through the wormhole of my third eye
and all time played out, and all of being’s wealth

became desert, then black, then red, then white
and all knowledge was dust; language, a dream.
and something i’d forgotten i was arrived
somewhere i’d forgotten i’d always been

and the presence in this place i was not
one with nor not one with; all of human
categories fallen out from themselves.

impossible moment, i understood my lot:
home of the soul, visitor from sand,
given a gift: gratitude, in bottomless well.