each day is as mysterious
as the why we live
they are no less a mystery
than God is a mystery
we never really know an artist’s intentions...
or even our own intentions...
least of all
God’s intentions
the being
of poetry––
we
merge with silence––
we enter
the emptiness––
write on clouds &
echo off dimensions
of the blue
by voice,
by reason,
by kindness,
by rightness,
by goodness,
by the justice
we somehow sense––
as we look inside
where
true is
unconstrained
by form
what is all this?
where does it come from?
this making &
molding
in the swirling
unshapen sky-cavern
of every where
& we
we are the search
& the makers
of meaning¬¬––
of myth
of poems &
prayer
breathing a life
a beyond knowing
God is truth ...
as sure as
the light of setting suns
is beautiful ...
which is yet another word
for mystery
in a universe
where mystery
is a word
for every word
twinkling in heaven
like an imagined
star
can a word
or a star
be forever?
what can
‘eternal’
mean?
& why?