You said: Moon-tipped pine-tips moan
in Hallelujah gone gold moods,
pressing in against the stranded night
caught on the reef of a liquid sky.
I replied: Tonight I am an abandoned raft
adrift on a rolling sea of dark light,
my moon-cracked mast of identity
swept off in a wave of advaiticy.
You answered: Tonight Dear,
come a little nearer to the white hot coals
burning brightly beneath this brave cry.
Within the fire-sea . . . mirth, miff, and pun.
We run and we run. To what, from whom?
A wan moon casts past me, shadowless,
angling my vision.
I said: Moon passing, mind passing, cast in
your coal-fired beams of dreams and visions –
cries and mirthful laughter might come after,
first there’s the race, the romance, and the ruin
of running in place to keep pace with your light.
You replied: Come on down to Mind-Bend town,
where shine-bodies bare the burgeoned stem
of twining-light gone right, gone left, gone to gone.
Before dawn has lit the sky, between Tcha and Jai,
You and I, lovers echoed in arc and awe, go sky-blind.
I answered: Glorious light pours down from above,
yet what use is light when blinded by Love?
This sailor’s angle of vision may veer
but whichever way I manage to steer,
the mind-bend is: there is nobody here!
The mind-bend is – there is nobody is here!