After Profiteers


Screen Shot 02-07-16 at 10.10 PMExultation is in the going
The inland soul flees time’s superficiality
We are nomads, then
In deep eternity and

The powerful machines are coming
My brethren have take to cities
Flooded the seas with their discarded wealth
But wealth is not what it once was

Profit is for dying eyes
And hearts that are not awake
Paradise is not an ownership
It is a freedom and a delight

I never spoken with God
But I saw her face in creation
Revived and renewed in a thousand eyes
I felt the novel agony of a lost humanity

So bemused and so conquered by suffering
Taken from men who war for their pride
I will not exalt in the smallness
Of my life, I will live it finely

With women, who understand me
And roses, as grateful as I
Lost among the crowds, I will
Enjoy my difference, and remain

A peculiar traveller of what comes and goes
Curiosity, that’s the only name
I care to pronounce.

But With a Fraction of the Love


 

 

 

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I’ve felt my life

In the murmur of a bee

And felt all my tears

 

In the eminence of a nest

And the daffodils blew color

Covert as April, or candid as May

I took my time to age and my time

Was plenty, in the solitude

 

Of antiquity, forgetting for answering

Only questions, guided me

At the breaking of the day

 

Where golden drops spawned

Longer looks and deeper searching

All for something immaterial

There is a flower which no longer blooms

It’s in my heart or should I say, it was

 

It’s gentle romance led me on

In the chivalry of my subjective warmth

Where I was not alone, nor humming birds left

 

The measures of days were not my smiles

My splendour was meagre, my heart

Was the moistness of oxygen

In your lungs, the breath that kept you sane

When life was a tyranny of choice until

 

There was none left and freedom hung

Like a low hanging fruit, of what our lives had become.

 

In Process of the Seasons of You in Me


 

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Love, there was never an audience

Only the taste of a premonition

That died so easily in your hands

And my life was an illusion

 

But my dreams had a vividness to me

You were never old to me, I never tired of your

Native voice, the April lift of your soul

The green Junes burning in your hair

 

The majesty of your words

That my songs could never dear

Summers died at your feet

Love, I roamed beaches and years

 

Trailing the path you had fled

And white as the sun, I never tasted you

Only an invisible promise of hope

That bled in me when I thought of you.

Sermon Beneath New Stars


 

Unity

Yet, love, how I identify with you
Love on fire for humanity, for a collective survival
And therefore if to love can be a desert
The water is everywhere, people are

All around the virtual taverns, the city streets
The country roads, the planet twinkles
The stardust clovers, the empathetic telepathy
Of our lives that all have a common origin

Love is the grand unifier, the unity
That never sleeps, that walks all roads
That cradles hope, in all seasons
Over all obstacles, in all hearts

To bless thee, and to console thee
From that same love that vindicates all effort
From that grace that perpetuates all glory
Love on fire with a faith, that cannot be quelled

That is the fate of trusting love, God accepting
Nature yielding, time withstanding
Immortality calculating, AI supporting
Death moves not this, nor I, if self is lost

Love is transcendent to self and that is me
I am that, and eternity has her recipe
That gives meaning to all the paths
For time and space abide by her
And her law is effortless, spontaneous, creative.

The End of Chapters of Rhyming


 

When she transformed into a butterfly
There was no turning back
Eun Ji, we sail on point into some unknown

No thanks or apologies can make it right
There is no apology for our place on Earth
And no gratitude strong enough to repay these debts

If I feel as if the top of my head
Where being blown by the sun
I would give up poetry and become distilled
Into something the centuries crave
And I once possessed, but it would not be me

Nothing is mine, that I have done
The human heart knows no boundaries
Identity and separation, are but convenient devices

Poetry is the oldest lie, so when we leave her
Dangling, we make a personal promise
To be truthful, to be realistic

And emotion has found itself out
And no longer finds words, we are set free
If to be a poet is not a profession, but a condition
Then the former poet can go on to other things
Bringing the craft of not understanding

Bringing the dreamer to the ends of time
Where the universe conspires in secrecy
If in the end you tried and cared
Let that be enough to start your new life.

Before I loved, I Knew Nothing


 

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Before I loved you, I loved myself
But myself was never sufficient, never transcendent
Only a bit of dust and thought, transient

Before I loved you, I loved the world
But the world changes so fast, dear
It has rooms full of ashes, can you see them

In the city and the digital corridors
They are abandoned nearly as soon
As they begin to open the doors

Before I loved you, I loved the universe
More than any one human being, I think
Love is not something inconceivably alien

But in retrospect, the most intimate notion
For in attention, spreading it, I am bathing
In a kind of glow, for all that is plentiful and gifts

That appease me wherever I go
And it’s a kind-hearted gratitude and compassion
That enables me to stop loving myself too much

Because my heart only has room for everything
Before I loved you, I loved the idea of love
But you taught me another perspective

And sometimes, love owns a new perspective
Because it’s love that transforms us into
Somebody better, and that is why

After I love you, I’m able to love you more
Than when we were together
Surprising its then, how love comes around.

That Which we are Seeking


4

Love, why do I not recognize you everywhere?
In everyone, because that’s where you are
Is it not, Beloved that I search outside myself to find
Wildfire in the forest, stain of soul in matter

I have loved you without knowing I did
All the time, all the while, I’ve been searching
Trying to build myself up into something
Seeking some semblance of security

But I have duped myself, sought you in the
Wrong mediums, forgotten your signature, your form
The rancorous unity is celebrating everywhere
But I don’t hear it, I only walk in my own shadow

But it isn’t enough, I’m a global spark
Born to celebrate the splendour that is our love
Creation everywhere, life’s miracle pride

Our love to be alive, it’s palpable, not indifferent
The signals before I love you, the signals
Of the universe to all loving things, it’s natural
I knew all the rooms of existence, before I understood

By the Mouth of Divinity


 

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It’s as if infinity sleeps in your eyes
But when you look at me, I am made complete
the poetry of everything that is alive
I feel in you, like a moving work of light

You are the agile grace of air
And the calm of ocean’s deep
You are a yellow monument of the East
And a slight feather of all care

You are the familiar clay and melody
Of Mandarin, the whisper of Korean
And I ache to know the temples of Taiwan

Where on mountains I meet my purpose
And if I can ever understand, the rite of love
I want it to seize me like a paradise
Where harmony is the goal and dawn

Is the vistas of all I know to be true
The embellishing thirst of forests and lives
That were not meant to be alone but shared
A release of primitive genes from deep

In the Earth’s mystery of the vault of time
Where our ancestors felt the flowers and the blood.

For you


 

2

I have craved the taste of your skin
For what feels like centuries, and I am
The evolutionary urge of sunbeams permeating
Soul and brain and movement
I am human being, hungry for immortality

Your lovely body is my youth’s rite
I pace hungry for the cherishing of a lifetime
Your hot heart, nearly too precious to hold
How can I serve you better, my dear?
I have worked starving just to have you

By my side, for a few mortal years
And I am a puma on the barren of
The rough anonymity that separates our lives
I’ve been a hunter and a digital firebird
Just to get a few inches closer to your life
I have desired through life-plans of ambition

And I have been silent to the failures
That must be endure, just for a few moments of bliss
I have felt the light that rises in your smile
And in your delicate form, I have felt

The lessons of history and sacrifice
The language of aroma, the stuff of hope.

These Urban Rites


Poems

If the soul selects her own society
Then tell me who shut the door on years
Shared, oblivious, estranged that was
Once so intimate, divorced reality

Some things that fly – are meant to be
Don’t you know, lover, formerly Beloved?
Where we two crept through winters
Hand in hand for a short while

Was it enough, tell me lost friends?
I have known some of the most lonely hours
Sensitive perhaps to primitive emotions
Of abandonment, alienation, dependency

On a clan, a tribe, a friend, a partner
Who was not truly there, the family unit
Is then, not what it used to be
Brothers, unsistered, father impersonal and past

Faith is a fine invention, for community
But what if the world was dangerously anonymous
What if the trusting woods were no more?
And friendship, as if spoken by a distant bird

Whose voice has been ripped from evolution’s side
We, who were once two butterflies at noon
In our starry youth, overcome with glee
The tides have turned and we’ve been beaten

By men who would be our competition,
What mystery pervades such a world
Where the street and brutality have new meaning
And poverty a disfigured face to those
Who once might have shown us kindness.

Created By a Touch of Doubt


 

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Today the air is clear of everything, for
It’s a brand new day
And I am everything and nobody

Just the way I like it, grand and serene
Anonymous yet friendly, my sense
Is honed to innovation and the future
There is nothing I crave from biology
Today I am older and younger

Than ever before, wiser and stronger
As if none of us had ever been here before
Today is the day of my realization

The singularity in me reaches its apex
Let me be the intelligence of my soil
Let epigenetics of my choices wash over me
In a hush, a quiver, and a whisper
Of all the people I have been

A sovereign ghost of a life, that cannot
Stay the same in such an inscrutable world
I’m blotched out beyond unblotching
And in sync with the universe beyond dying.

First Snow


Snow

There’s music in the first snow
Like the foam of Seas, it’s ethereal
Letters of rock and water to Woman
To Man, a sub-music of the blue
Skies and clouds and seas

It’s the gulls of the cosmic rain
Variations on what winter means
The death of ease, the struggle for comfort
Unless in darkness, you find yourself?
We stepped over icicles of white

We felt it in our breath, sang our songs
It is cold to be forever young
And inside we are still so young
Sun-bleached are we not, we remember
The feel of winter on our laps

A humidity in the back of our throats
The jaded hope that this too will pass
It’s a faith of nature’s cycles that’s for sure
There’s music in the first snow
And release, release from so many things.

The vivid things that never change


 

Gold

Lights out. Shades up.
The bloom in your heart is running
A weather to look at,
The sun peaking through your dreams
A cosmos to deliver your thirst
Boulevards closed. Souvenirs sunset.
It’s time for starts to earn your trust
Perceived by feeling, instead of sense
Allowed by intuition to run wild
The instinct that loves the dark
Lights out. Shades up.
A revolution of the years gone
The time left, its so slim now
The trees cannot wait till morning
The inherent opposites are coming to fruition
The bloom in your heart is dripping
A sudden world without time
Where you existed, immersed
From any future, simply ever-living and being.

Arcades of Cadence


 

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The poem of the mind is a final act
An act of longing with the universe
The script was a language
And the talent was a heart

As simple as a rain drop or a snow flake
The architect was a feeling universe
The women of the time, the something else

That made us a theater and that
Brought golden souvenirs as subjects
Allows us to feel more than we could speak

The poems would suffice, for a
Life where the scene was always setting
Repeated in an light that was always evening
Sunsets that constructed a stage
That was always glowing, it was like

Words spoken to the thin rare luminous air
Of moonlight, morning mist and the face
Of a Beloved that wasn’t an audience but

An actor, maybe created by our own imagination
That was how we survived and revealed ourselves
To ourselves, and those were the feelings that

Were rightfully ours, the finding of a satisfaction
That all life feels, the poems passing through
Wheels of light to return above some mountain tops.

arcadesofcadence

The brightness of arms


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The brightness of arms

What more is there to love
Than I have loved, that we have loved?
The lips of creation are bright

Time floods with senseless syllables
Images, identities, centuries full of
The lust of all approaching feeling
A haunted youth of this world’s
Agony of moisture, and trembling of suns

A blur of archives and smiles
Deaths and glories and forests burning
And this first clear pure canto

Of all we have ever felt, is it glittering now
A memory renacted, an augmented reality?
Earth is more than that, bathed in a body
Of oxygen and water, a blanket of snow
She’s the leaping of lakes and the dreaming of clouds

And the impersonal cities towering
Above the people, how they nameless walk
Naked into their fate, blind as circuits

What more is there to do
Than I have done, than we do by habit?
Burying ourselves in raising children
Escaping the world in our work.
We’ve called this living, but I am not sure

I am not sure we compose,
That we compose enough peace in peace time
And altruism in prosperity time

And art in dream time
And hope in harsh times.
I guess we’ll see, I guess on wings more subtle
Than mercy and compassion, I’ll find
Identity naked again, ahead of spirituality.

Transhumanica


 

 

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Where is the hand, between

The future and the past

The mouth that spells vowels

Of another kind of mind?

 

The hand between the candle

And what was once a wall

Now it’s virtual, an illuminated

Wall between all lights

 

The man in a room with

An image of the world

It’s no longer what the world is

That woman is no longer there

 

She’s somebody and something else

Where is the hand, between

One moment and the next

When time accelerates exponentially

 

The speed of human change

Giving way to algorithms, seasons

Of another kind, and is it lonely there?

As lonely as it was once before?

 

It must be that the hand

Is another kind of intelligence

Permeating what was once dead space

Now space and time have new meaning

But will love grow larger

In this automated android world?

 

When Nature With Rubies & Stars Pelteth Me 


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When the night is almost done
And we have walked a life of years
Dark and light, with uniforms of snow
Steps through rain and dimples ready

To face the morning’s mist
When body is in her frightened hour
Do not be afraid, soul
Spirit that shines in smiling procession

For change bears her faithful witness
There is no fight in the Great Spirit
She’s just there, in peace and surrender
A vacancy of meditation’s ambush

On heights of piercing wild
Where stars are free above the winds
When the day has come
To look inside your self

And silence like an ocean rolls
I will hear the voice of Time
And she will fling her speech in prayer
And all beauty will unscrutinize

For nature is the bright majority
She guides the continual crowning
Of my steps, and takes me by the hand
A feminine onset of eternity
In my blood, and health in my shared oxygen.

Men And Women


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A little road not made by man
A little God made by them
A little country of men

I only sigh, nationalism is dead to me
We are not tribe or empire states
We are people on a planet

In a Universe full of people
A little road to the stars
A little racing into the future

A little goal of centuries
And sunshine that bows to everything
Giving life, as we will one day

Creation has so many forms
Gods do not assume their superiority
While men dream and toil

Women should rule
A little Goddess to heal the world.

Into the Stars


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Into the Stars

An everywhere of silver

An everywhere of love

That’s what life is, in essence

A unity of being and becoming

Until I becomes we

And we becomes us

With breath to track the land

And a heart to hold the sky

And morning lit with a bud

Of breaking sunlight in the eyes

An everywhere of gold

An everywhere of eyes

That’s what life is, the melody

Of a trillion echoes of lives

A unity of hope

Until diversity revolts

We are splinter colonies

Lifting our little girls to the stars.

The Second of November


Death

It was in the white of the year
That Father left the Multiverse
But death was a sweet hour
OF faith and dazzled face

For Time and God to converge
Or that Ethereal zone to confide
No longer to be confined on Earth
And little self and tea for beggars

With sons and friends to hold
One’s life, and to hold the ears
Of memory and all that was left unsaid
Unknown, private for paradise

The soul should know what the body doubted
The heart remains silent to fend off grief
The dying need but little, dear !
The inner room is where it is said

We forget our name for Good
The self is but a collection of choices
Some temporary disease of identity
How trivial the flesh, the spirit
Lives eternally, in wood and words
In a hush of prayer that blankets everything.

This Juvenile World 


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I’m haunted in November again
In corridors of time’s fleeting
To be a ghost oneself, to oneself
In the lonesome places
Where age meets security

To be shut up in verse
Like an artist tied and captive
To the abolishment of normalcy
The lives others lead, I’ve been
Placed inside a closet of make-believe

And when I show my head
To the world, I feel absurd
Or else, the world appears absurd to me
But what if I abolished creativity
In separate drawers, art has a smaller possession

Than it once did in dreary youth
But I’m still Nobody, Who have you become?
We’re not a pair of invisible, we’re separated
By digital noise, channels as juvenile
As the potential of a word, the possibility of a voice
There’s nothing the world has,
That I want anymore, it’s a con and a game
With every blossom and on every bush
My route to evanescence is a Saturday hush.

Musts, Shoulds and Could’vebeens


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The solemn years have ended
In bliss of holidays extended
And parting with the world
Still unfair, with but a hope to dream

With tolling bell and taxes taken
It’s time for death, and nothing less
The centuries have not smiled like this
Since 1956, or else

Good news can be the common way
Our bones and teeth still have decayed
Time was not differ than what it is
You say that’s just life, I must have heard wrong

How heaven could be so sad?
And life so bottomless a well
Of mystery and anonymously clad
What’s on its way is going and gone

Time for eternity, never enough….
There are no “complete poems”
Only preferments and stations
That must dissolve, this purple state

Into a balance of modest clay and ash
The unblushing end is upon us here
So stay a while majesty and regret
That we might have loved, a little bit more

The sad world in her corrupt gown
With all the same stories and fallen angels like
The soldier, peasant, monk and squirrel:
We are just weary creatures here
Awareness of the end, is the beginning of the end.

Death Comes


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If I should die, leave me here
In books, buried poems, last thoughts
For we all have the commerce to continue
Life, it will do well without us
That’s just the gentleman of Spring

Evolution with a smile
If I should die, live on as before
For I cannot help what I missed
Oh dear, I hardly lived if but for you
The final summer was not so unlike
The seasons that came before

If I should die, I’ve lived on dread
The danger of not living up to the self
The self that conjured up an identity
And some pet works for a while
If I never have children, then do not judge me

Strange that each one’s loving
Comes to nothing in the end
Sweet hours have perished here
And a heart divided by time
With room enough to ask the universe
If she too felt the thrill of the unknown.

Meeting of Artists


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It was my soul, that unsuspected lay
The brilliant eyes of our meeting
In voluptuous spiritual clarity

Flattered by thy faithfulness to literature
The hidden merits of a lifetime
Of soul-searching, angelic choirs

And tears that probe the unseen
My yearning means nothing if
I resign the future to her promises

I hold part of the sanctuary
In my vision of delight in evolution
It was my soul, cast to eternity
Felt the golden skin of a future self
It was not me, it was genius incarnate

And she called me like a counsellor
To tell me of the triumph of love
In the embrace of a network
Where the internet is lost in sacred connection
Art would not lose itself but regain

The love withdrawn in declining time
That saves from soul and spirit’s tide
In a pure disseminated peaceful ray.

If Love Be


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Love is anterior to life
Or is it just the plume
The hummingbird’s regard
In a lonely pilgrimage?

Prayer are my paralyzing footsteps
Of this obscure fogged air
Perhaps there is no enchanted prize
At the end of the weary way

If there are limits to our dream
Then maybe it’s the world
Not our fault, just a symptom
Of the decay of the times

If love is just a supreme moment
In a ruddy effort to survive
Than what new value has the soul?
That finds goodwill, posterior to death.

Life is not a Duty; It’s a Will


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Sameness dulls the mind
And love shakes the heart
So do not be too cautious
This life is enough to sip

Do not hurry, but
Carry lovely garlands in your hair
And smile to break up the sameness
Burn with courage, to

Shatter the dullness
Remembering those things
We did in our youth….
Be young and stay beautiful

Give your heart to the world
Or live a miserable existence
We’re all inches from dying
Our genes are mutating at every instance

Instead of playing roles, play music
The music of risk and ventures
The art of losing and winning
In a speed of learning and changing

Life is too short to forget
What longing means, what reddening brows
What breasts that shoot like cupid
Whose heart is apple-plucked

Too soon must drop to the ground
But fruit is meant to be eaten and bountiful
Love is meant to be poignant and profound
Who takes joy in the wounds and errors

Finds life a garden of many delights
There is not enough courage to go around
To find a life worth the exercise of hunts
And strong muses to fill your life

With resonance, spirits, colors
How delicate and wanton the Graces
How easily we lose obedience to desire
As if a safe secure life was the goal.

The Sapphire Memories 


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I’ve cut my soul into divine strips
To deliver me into my own bliss
It is selfish to crave altars

Whose bright shaking leaves spell Autumn
I am a flowing here like honey
My heart is liquid and melts
To the touch of beings, the sight
Of worlds, I am a bit of everything

The festive joy that resides
After bodies, experience, simulations
The game of roses is nearly done

ii

I am a flicker of a spirit
Drawn in incense and silence
Can you feel me there too?
And pour all that is left of me
Into golden midnight and moons

With the fragrance of nature’s delicacy
The vulnerability that never departs
And the safety of a trillion glittering forms

I am all of those and shine still on Earth
No matter the ruined paradise of cities
Old and wretched, and empires,
Keen to exploit the people, it’s always
Been the same, silver tunics, obedient daughters

iii

It’s easy to make a vision with the ones you love
But the truth is never what it appears to be
To unloose the beauty of your eyes

Is to find the rapture of nature once again
There is no equal of that among the Gods
That which most excites the mind is divine
Abstract, like the fuel of the centuries
Whose voice is sweet yet so impersonal.

The Focus of my Little Prayers


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I started early, took my dog
And visited the sea of poems
There in the basement of dreams
I found the lilacs staring back at me
I was impressed by the melody

How the sea withdrew in felicity
There was no turning back, it was set
The moon waltzed above my head

And I like mortals swooned
On the page of my youth
Where slow-motion still loved
The quietness distilled
From silence of the dove

And the summer made me beautiful
Inside, to protect me from the dying
Change was enhanced in song

Through sequestered scattered afternoons
And I was as much, my own sun
As the light escapes across the white
Across the wet throngs of spring
To be a poet of all the things we might become

Enlarging loneliness, with an inner smile
Finding joy in emptiness, that’s what
I know best, and it’s how I’ve survived

These books of bronze and blaze
And haloes of another time
I’ve felt the wizard suns
From distant eyes and praised
It’s all I have to bring today

All I am is me, and it’s a meadow wide
And it’s a storm’s encircling pride
And in my heart there is no setting or rising
There just lives a poem, that cannot die.

The Last Offering


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I come, to the void of myself often
It is the soul of my solitude
It is where all the curtains are drawn

And I am in my own privacy, in touch
With something of the divine
I go there like an escape from the outside world

It is my heart of subjectivity
And I do not find it at all terrifying
It’s a splendour to own such a place

A piece of art, an order of nature
The soul built by spiritual suffering
A palace of mysticism who could understand?

What to an artist is their dream
To the cruel world how futile and juvenile
But we all require a soul to function

* * *

A spirit to push us through those terrible nights
Where the world is truly against us
And we are abandoned by friendship, love, profit

How many days of my life have I slept there
Alone, for that is the self-indulgence of
Risking and of striving illicitly, stubbornly

Against the peer pressure of such a conforming world
That cares for profit, reproduction, tradition
Perhaps we are not all made for that, I do not know?

But friends do leave and a dull pragmatism does
Set in, like the idea of responsibility for ordinary things
As when mates leave us for our idealism

I would have imagined it would be a virtue
But what if in all of this, the world is wrong?
And my soul is right, and I am doing what

I was meant to do all along, how shall I forgive myself then
For squandering my talent in subjectivity
And loving my own doom through it all

* * *

There is no room in this world for poets
So perhaps we shall do it as if in secret revolt
The revolution is always born inside

I need no solace from existence, only
My divine food, my guise of dream, my birthright
Of sacred psychology, that is why I write

It’s not a delusion nor in glowing pink afternoons
A mistake I made in being who I chose to be
It’s my exercise in the cosmos and empathy

It’s my last belonging to simplicity
It’s me mimicking all I thought was beautiful
To be grateful for a moment, together
With silence, whiteness, bareness, authentic authority.