Monday, August 07, 2006
Waters
A lilt or a tone in a voice or melody
Or the glow of a gilt-edged cloud
Compells discernment
And plunges one into a terrain
Of co-dwelling in blissful love.
A curl of the lip
Seen as a hateful sneer
Brings forth all one’s hatefulness
Into that hateful coitus
In cycles and counter-cycles of violence.
Water flows to its own level, they say. It seeks, does it?
And when it sights that mate, divine or degenerate,
in the cavern of deep consciousness
Does it shriek?
And do the tunnels of mind-body resound with the echo?
Illustration: Nathaniel Klein
