There must be no
mystery, really, even to
The fathomless depths
Of the ocean that so beguile
(I remember once,
in a vision, descending
and not wanting to emerge),
or where the spiral
of a budding flower begins.
We might be looking for
Creatures of unknown origin,
Ghosts and mirages
Who have seen what
We have not,
Been where we have
Not dared to go,
For source and origin myths
That lift us even
In our quiet unease
Over all we may
Have almost forgotten,
Because we still
Want to dance there;
We have still not
Forgotten our most
Primal desires,
At the heart of which,
Our longing for
All of love’s
Various embraces,
Wrest us from life
As are living it,
Move us away from
Harsh contours to where
To where the flow
From one thing to the next
Reminds us that we, too,
Have this power to become
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