Sometimes I feel I just can’t say:
Is the source everything that takes up
the eventual eternal stream in its realm?
A dream whose end swirls into its beginning!
How can I awake my soul all the way;
when eternity is no close-up, and yet
a snapshot so full-on that it breaks
like a cloudburst every day. Is the universe such
a prolific shutterbug that it has albums and albums
devoted to our love. And should
I feel that it is even more profuse than the
breath of everyday sunlight that seems unabating.
These sandparticles roll in the hourglass
and each one forms a strand to a cord
or a chord; and letters follow in place,
words fall in place, ideas fall in place…
What is a memory then, that brings
so much imagination of hope?! Each
lifetime turned over like sewing a cloth,
and flipping it over to find the piercing needle
Such is the state of my mind, that each
thought is a bellwether for another
whole set of thoughts. And then there
is also, misfortune, this shamble to our love,
the profane edifice of disgust…
That so many evil minds want to make
capital of our love!
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