Poemander

Does wind still whizz when you don't hear?

Will love exist if I'm not here?

Forever is a mere drop that fills the ocean through the top.

And if you see no flame but fire

Would you conclude that my desire

Is just an evanescent prop

Pegged to a shabby, frayed backdrop?

I have no need to bring this forth,

Like waters take no stake in froth.

A dog may bark up the wrong tree,

But there is certain undeniability.

In things you see and sounds you hear,

You feel that something's very near,

Like something's real and intact,

I don't deny, but don't subtract

The seeing from seer and vice versa.

There is no line to trace with cursor.

An old precursory contract between the actor and the act.

We often think that times ago

The world was not that which we know,

But did you not at least suppose

That knowing so affects the cause?

And if you shift beyond convention,

Gossamer of a strange dimension

Entangles fiction with the facts,

That which creates and which destructs.

Zoom in and take it even closer:

Cocoon entrapping, eerie monster

Beneath your eyes prostrates it's prey.

It is your hand that halts the day.

Long fangs you sink to cull the body,

In human terms this you would call samadhi.

But all expressions, time and space

Serve some conceptual disgrace.

We're preconceived, we span much wider.

We reach far corners like a spider.

We weave the web of our wills

Into reality which fills each crevice, casement, distant hills.

The game is old, but play still thrills.

It spills

Down from the stage, and acting feels like all there is,

Like death is that and life is this.

But none is that: all folly play and draped coulis.