I promised

Infinite Nothing.

So let's hold that Thought.

Saw it, in half if one must.

For each side of the locket,

Clasped,

To the here after.

Not prying open.

Hearted,

Peering into past perfect.

Penmanship, left-right, handed.

Presence, common-sensed.

Closed,

like a Safe.

What puzzle piece of the Universe

ever fitted up exactly,

having no cushion in

the era, or in itself...

Being just space:

For Partial

Human

Understanding.

Life begins

outside the confines

of the self

The insides of which

are visited

by ever presented

Death

increasing its

real estate and

taxing all that is

individual

with age and decay

But outside of us

is the expansion

of the galaxies

on the march

seen by the eyes

of Oneness who

is busied always

planting thoughts

across the stars

There will be

flowers after all

in the heart

of the grave

in remembrance

of Winter's

metamorphosis

into a

Springing

of Souls.

There was a time

we stenographed

for the Stream...

My short hand

barely skimmed

the surface

of Its meaning,

submersed as

part of Conscious

dreaming...

Or so I thought

till finding

at the Wake

the real pages

from which

Imagination

was gleaning

were streaked

with smears...

Rippling within

waves of far-off

fears and regrets

for things

we'd failed

to hear...

It's the space

between

that echos

now...

or so it

seems

I like to read

Poetry out loud

I like to hear

how it sounds...

'round the mouth

I like to have it

reverberate

in the ear...

That's the best

way for me

to know

the feel...

Poetry read

out loud

has definitely

different clout

I like to find

the meter

and the beat...

The way it tingles

and tickles the teeth

Even read silently

Poetry has...

a wringing

for me.

That strange pool

the little blot.

That which follows the end

of startled thought !

I've seen around

the neighborhoods,

with languid trail,

laying down,

as boot

mark

on the corner

of sidewalks ;

Bowing

down--

To the left

and checking now ?

I see whole

new worlds

reflected

in after thoughts :

Anchoring us here in Space,

amid the many unknows,

is this heavy symbolism,

like a metal fist

to the left of the breast

in rememberance,

of multi dimensional

Existence.

An ankh to the forehead,

its cool reign

drops . . .

Settles and triggers

the beating of the heart

with echoed prayers in

angst as we set sail,

rippling . . .

to a place not so far off.

I'll be thinking of this

as we venture

out to script

across our

hemispheres

There are different Friends

with different strengths

and different weapons

different kinds of

mutual~

There are different Family

with different bonds

and different stock

different sorts of

balance~

And nuance.

The heart

is a chamber

of many cells

The mind

a keeper

of many keys

The Poet

wanders

so many steps

As pencil

on paper

conceals

I've adopted you

Like a cat...

Sitting & turning

Upon the lap,

Stroked & contented

While tip tapping

On the laptop.

There's an ahhhh in your Amen,

Sighed unlike when saying Grace

And where Gratitudes extend.....

There is no Finality, and no Vain,

Whispering back, in God's Name.