It seems I have just found myself
not in this body, rather in the wind
where I have always been,
and lost to grimy fingers
scratching inside out in wonder,
chasing old identities,
and not quite happy with the latest one--
who joined his greedy fellows
at the trough wiith thoughts of lust
and later, rusty arteries, and death.
I much prefer the breath, the spirit ride,
creation's thrust returning still again,
the journey through a cosmos
that a man will never touch with fingers.
Suddenly I am aware that one is born
when he is old--must be, as we were told
by one they called the son of God,
but then it never dawned on us
that all those blinking particles
were playing games,
and in the changes that they wrought,
proved quite immortal--you and I
behind our eyes, looked out
and saw it all.
And it was good.
~
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