no signposts here,
nor comforting consolations.
Perhaps that’s the way
it was originally meant to be,
though any pretense of meaning
is merely another drop of rain
in a depthless ocean.
Tonight I wander,
whittled down to a vapor
of what I thought I was — a sigh,
a murmur in the midst of the enormity.
An old maplewood cane in my left hand
taps the dirt along this deserted path,
marking footsteps that come
from nowhere, and lead to
Memories, doubts, hopes,
vague yearnings, pieces of dreams –
all skitter restlessly across the surface
of my pooling imagination.
I am water, weaving through
a water realm, unborn, undying,
twisting through the maritime depths
of itself, flowing through grand canyons
of heart-stopping vision, or pausing
in the murky stagnant backwaters
of abandoned hope and desire.
Could I ever conceive
of anything more precious
than this sublime simplicity?
This water is
its own divine sufficiency,
a distillation of immensity,
tidal child of the oceanic mother,
never other than herself, at play in cloud,
dewdrop, brook, snowslush, river, puddle,
torrential deluge, lake, wave, or slipstream —
in every dream of deep sea rest and motion.
Over the wash of waterfall, I burst into billions
of individual drops of myself in thundering
roar, only to dissolve again into the flow
of my eternal unity, flowing water
of life, nourishing all the many
thirsty forms of myself —
all my own form.
Contained within me
are an infinity of water worlds,
as I within them, and still I ripple on,
my cane tapping out a signature on water,
water echoing back the pure mindlessness
of that which can never know itself,
but only simply be itself.
Even this mysterious presence at last
is submerged in the welcoming embrace
of itself, watery limbs reaching out to catch
the gentle rain of this liquid sky’s tears,
the tears which are the heart’s voice
of this silence I wander through
tonight, alone, at peace –
dreaming a dream