eyes meet
cannons are readied
a dance begins
in the clouds,
for this festival,
this notion that the motion
of
love at first sight
is but this,
but this simple encounter of supernovae,
this greeting of leaves on the breeze,
and nothing more;
more than one stream, though,
sings from the meadows of this moment
there is another that offers a different species of reality –
the sighting that is but a rebirth,
a reincarnation,
of love
is not one come of the eyes,
but rather,
of the spirits,
for ‘love at first sight’
implies not the infatuation that is the delight of the sensations,
but rather the humility of bearing witness
to the universe of another,
of seeing ‘you,’
of seeing that you are both everything,
and
no
thing
and that both, together, are both and neither
everything
there are spaces that call our names,
call our time
the burning forest that is felt history,
the exiled bliss that is the present eternity,
the spectacular voyage that is the seafaring future,
and it is near
the precipice we laugh,
for not even the shadows are immune to the warmth
of true love,
and so the company of worries is welcomed,
because togetherness is a home that has enough for everyone,
always
nothing
the water droplets that run down a window in the rain,
how much life they live,
how much they experience,
as they come together,
and come apart,
over,
and over,
again,
picking little bits up,
leaving little bits behind,
marching, steadily,
toward the end,
flying, carelessly,
toward the end,
embracing in the barren shelter of change,
a reaper of the child’s cry,
a cry that is nevertheless heard
by mother,
beauty
a glorious sunset on a field of mangled corpses,
the tale of the wind carrying the ashes,
we see each other,
and we see the end,
of
each
other,
but we hold on to the window,
because purpose has been rendered
without
purpose,
and as emptiness greets us,
we take hands,
we give smiles,
we rest,
for oblivion cannot challenge the metaphysical empire of truth,
of true love,
for they share it,
-j
