Imagine all the world is inside-out
and what you thought was hard
reality
is pure imagination resting in
a headless head. That picture window is
an opening within this
consciousness.
Look, chickadees are feeding on
themselves.
Their cerebellum is this space of
sky
and eyes are everywhere it touches.
Ground
is just the edges of a deepest
sleep
from which the branches of some
scientific
playground spread until I see
myself.
My leaves are falling everywhere.
My river
runs through sure-footed galaxies.
My ocean
waves at countless years of
soundless notions.
None of this is what I really am.
No comments:
Post a Comment