Some puffs later and
the world fills with a quality
of Self

The Immortal wishing to see
the Mortal at play, with its little *****,
starts and stops, tries and meanderings,
a spectacle exotic and wondrous,
the tangy taste of temporal existence,
an unmissable show.
It reaches out for Life
just as we reach out to the Beyond;
a chasing; a swirl; a dance.

Howling in love
as the steps live.

Such gifts that cannot be held
it has to give, uncountable, luminous,
some so bright that could banish
the rooms of fragile shadow play,

until the hands recognize the light
as themselves.