I peer through the window into space…: A poem 

I peer through the window into a space, 

a place dotted by imagination, illusion, fantasy, 

Like a child’s first venture into fable, where 

he discovers there is a reality beyond the 

surreal moat of a bounded reality 

And I question every science that seems  

to connote a presumption or conclusion to the existence of being 

Have I not wandered into unexplored realms 

and encountered strange other beings? 

You can see that intelligence is no fiefdom 

of humanity, nor is its material life. 

So now they are saying every atom is an illusion? 

What would be the universe then? 

Just a floating expanse of a vacuous palpable dis-sensation 

Can we be prisoners of our own perception? 

Have we now come to the point to feel the folly of our presumed vision? 

I am just walking in the spirit of that eternal conjecture 

When I am confronted with memories of past lives, loves, and locations? 

Is all that vocation an illusion? 

Does time breathe like a collapsing spectrum 

rebuilding a moment, before it dissipates all over again? 

Or is it wrapped like strands around the universe 

like a writer creating fiction 

if thought were an illusion, so would be creation? 

And would I know the answer, when they seem to say 

that there can be life in other solar systems? 

What is the life that took the first step in any direction 

before it remained motionless and yet felt the presence of the whole expanse?