The Cycle of a Breath

Finally the sun comes up
Bright and glad
It will soon go --
and won't be gone long

Snow on the mountains
Gently melting to water
And more snow falling

The silk handkerchief
Pulled out through my nose
Cleans me out, wipes my window clear

The peace that flows through me flows
Through everything
It is only that
Only what is common as dirt
It is all of that
the everything itself
I can't help it.
The luminousness of objects is a mistake I made
An accident, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it,
I slipped, I stumbled, the sun

Was in my eyes.

I see my whole journey
A spinning bobbin.
Threads wind off, flying away
Pulling themselves loose and
Loosening the whole
While also threads wind on
become tighter wound.
It must be the mites:
Tiny, black, a few thousand programmed neurons
Mindlessly digging into the center
Inadvertently loosening it
So threads are thrown off
Even as the
Winding on winds on and on.

Albuquerque, 2004.02.27

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