One day she revealed
that the opacity of things
was but the glean.

her secret lay
in letting others
seek her.

 

even their obscurity
she tended with light.

 

They were her dream,
and she theirs.

 

they remained susceptible to longing,
for bliss was but the shadow of desire.

 

with few exceptions,
they preferred the luxuriant,
the profuse, the fertile.
yet seeing that they would often
lose themselves within it,
she had her ways to remind them
of the essential.

 

many found her vague
or inapparent;
yet she was anything but.
whenever necessary
she would supply
the world as proof.

it was also necessary
to become aware
that blood
coursed through the veins
of silence.

for those who had lost sight of her,
she left a trail of tears
dappling the pale blue of the sky.

 

others found suns
where there was only light.

 

however brief, some would still,
occasionally, let the world
reveal itself as luminous.

and there were even times
when all that she could taste
was the bliss of an empty bowl of tea

her hesitation also
brought forth worlds.

 

and there were those too
who often without realizing it
took seat upon the remnants of light.

 

 

those who remained with lowered gaze
had the opportunity to realize that their shadow
and hers were always one.

 

 

she wavered gently between,
so that one always had the choice
whether to drift or drown.

 

 

she forgot no one—
even the animals
traced her absence.

 

 

unassuming
all flowed into her.

.

some sought within.
others sought without.
neither, however, seemed to notice
that limits themselves could be luminous.

.
.

.
“1…2…3…” silently, to themselves,
they counted how many steps it would take
until they would  be washed away.

.
.