A wonder a day's old is old
For today's a greater wonder yet
Without asking without knowing
Given if gifted to accept

A vine grafted to ancient roots
Drinks deep beneath the rocky earth
A child tasting strange unknown foods
Knowing not father nor mother

Ever filled with songs ever new
Awakes the dawn with song unsung
From sights seen winged beyond the stars
And joy's complete when mysteries known

Accepting that made not with hands
Needs knowing the Mind not of flesh

Spy pigeon, oh spy pigeon,
perched high across my window
Bio engineered and slave,
Remote robot to unseen
master's master's whims
Chip in brain, camera in eye,
satcoms under its feathers
But Nature still reigns,
for here comes lady pigeon,
and off they flew and never return

We count, calculate, compare
If greater, thanks aloud in joy
If lesser, work, fight, beg

A life measured in numbers
Negative, minute, millions
But life begins at infinity

Not a number not a count
Of mind more real than numbers
Ungraspable, priceless, gifted

The work and joy is to know
The fight is to diminish to empty
For the less I am the more I am

Picking one from many fools who ran for a small price
Tempted with morsels, contemptible as the beasts
Gullibly proud of unshakeable beliefs pleasing the ears
Snared they shall to slave that my free will shall be

When you know it's not you
Then you’ve known another

But is it friend or foe
For you or against you

Your saviour or jailer
Your master or helper

It may oppose but it's not enemy
It rather flatters for pride leads to fall

Perhaps it's neither for you nor your foes
But for itself as it befits its own

If asked it will say it is what it is
And what another may say I don't know

If I speak truth without knowing until later when affirmed, then I know it was another.

If I speak truth, yet woven in it are greater and deeper truths, constructed without intent nor awareness, then I know it was another.

If my simplicity conceals a manifold complexity with greater simplicity, ie beauty, then I know it was another.

If what I wrote or said long ago is ever new, surprising and constantly inspiring with each re-reading or re-hearing, as if they are living and ever growing, then I know it was another.

If every thought is not only consistent with all that's revealed but reveals yet more, especially that most subtle but utterly profound, that I cannot help but believe that I've transcended into a realm beyond all earth, then I know it was another.

If it is what it is, is so familiar, like one knew from long ago, and never apart, inseparable as soul and spirit, heart and mind, that it's mere shadow is sufficient for proof, then I know it was another.