Still point of black light -
the root of matter
is a spark of unsolvable darkness
so radiant
it cannot be seen.
It is a deeper octave of space -
ether curled into an ear.
I listen as I am:
the bell chime’s unfurling wings
braided into negative space synchopation.
Here is God’s eye as a shimmering field of grasses
waving halos of looping light through sticks and seems.
Its sizzle is my throat
This hollow is my womb.
Flatness, distance and harshness blur.
Articulate stillness swells
inside a breeze weaving mist
in blue- found space
floating like star- seeds
from the burst milkweed.
This drifting cinema
gauzy clouds
sueded white fringe -
Here is your beaming garment
in silvered blue velvet.
Like rain falling down in straight lines,
I want to sing slowly between the streams
of sunlight.
And return again to my Indian home –
sky-lake reflecting
water breath floating
in radial silence.
There is no space that is not me.