September 8, 2023

Myriad World

binomial #035_
My dawn-dazed eyes fix peripherially on a chipmunk lit by a leaf-filtered sun,
whilst chipper birds chirp into my morning-muddled memory fourteen deer from prior dusk,
and, forever Phoebus-befuddled, I refigure a great mullein on disturbed ground up the hill.

I am distracted drinking coffee.
❖ ❖ ❖

There comes a moment in each day where words become empty husks, their meanings having hatched and flown away. One cannot tell just by looking at a word how its meaning will act out in the world.

We just arrived at that moment for today.
My dearest sibling—
I sigh your sighs—I catch your keening.
Your tears cry me—Our faces mirror mourning.
Pouring one another into the dirt.

From its tiny, indistinct flowers the salt-horned samphire cries water me, and you weep your tender brine into a tree.

The tree's leaf shall breathe in all the air,
And its root shall suck up the oceans.

The tree's bough shall cover the entire sky,
and its trunk shall blot out the horizon.

The tree's flower shall eclipse the earth,
and its fruit shall engulf all fullness.
The plant of one hundred forms carries the virtue of one thousand deities.
Whoever recognizes it becomes light
That pursues the perpetual bloom
And reflects all future flowers.

Light-as-lightning knocks down a limb bearing an opal fruit. The limb and leaves all melt—they are loathe to touch the ground from which they vaulted. Much-vaulted limb and leaves become as mist.

The mist becomes a tree. It weeps poetic wax in mirrored worlds. You cannot scrape it! You cannot scrape the wax. The wax is joy without proof, unperformable secret joy, immune to the cascading collapse around it.
All for now and now for all,