Intimations of the Grand Devastation

In my mind
Your image shimmers
As the sylph
Of some remote,
Imagined, woodland pool.

Yet as I dream
And in dreaming feel
Those appreciable incompletions
Which memories
Serve as crystal
Serves the seer.

I am the thinker
And you,
The insubstantial thought.

Cross-legged
I sit
And study
The indifference
Of whirlpools
In a tea cup.

The meditations are long
And the tea is
Already cold.

Your voice is
A departed echo.

The silence will not
yield.

Barefoot
And smiling
I recite your name
into the hollow infinity
Of a tea cup.

And rejoice at the echoes of
anticipated sounds.

This is the only happiness
I know.