If every single form of life
Is a soul-building enterprise
If suddenly small purple flowers
Show up on the red-blooming hibiscus
Everything has to be re-imagined
About how everything works
A default to the empty mind
In which everything's dissolved
Into the darkness of God again
And whatever we've left him
To reassemble from all of life
Into a new cosmos be sacrificed
That the great Teachers of Flowers
And the Masters of the Wind
Be sent forth again
No comments:
Post a Comment