In fruit flesh, the guru.
In water clarity, the guide.
The one true teacher
expounds on meaning
at a liminal space symposium.

The wind giving lessons to fall leaves
and leading by example.

making flesh the metaphors
of a genetically engineered zeitgeist
to feed the hungry
when umbilical severance packages
leave so many hanging on ropes
of woven words

promises of the future truth
from mirrored hallway sages
grow dim
and fracture into color
when the glass is shattered
and made sand for
another casting

a new bowl
holding the only water we will ever know

there are those who say
the rock in my pocket
blue-hued and tumbled
is a boon to communication
so here goes

it starts with a question
is there an ending?
and if there isn't
is there an answer?
and if there is
when we get there
will we remember
and if we do
will we know the asker anymore

but I didn't come here
to blow smoke at tomorrow
you say
or drink the sloshing yesterday
I swim in
with any number of cups
I'd never touch the bottom

there are those who say
that pattern is
what it is
but we know only books
and their pages of mirror

I've never known a pattern
til it's over and done
and I didn't come here
to blow smoke at tomorrow
or drink the sloshing yesterday
I swim in
and the rock in my pocket
is a skull-crack gift
and a poem