My window is the world.
A patch of light illumines
the Autumn leaf,
shimmers its veins,
its seminal understanding
of life in its transitional story,
I had two raspberry eyes and ten mulberry
fingers as a child,
I grew until I weighed myself down;
I picked flowers.
Bees and butterflies
looked over my shoulder, darted in and out
amoung the splendor of Crayola colours,
I gave them to my mother with little thought
for lonely dandelions or the scent of fields
abundant with clover beyond my small child's world.
I can not withhold my breath
for these things seen and unseen,
for there is peace in my valley, and my
valley is resplendent with an all-pervading mystery.
I am more than a voyeur. I am neither lost nor abandoned, I am
the all-seeing eye,
I find my home neither here nor there.
I am ever reemerging.
I am the Lover and the Beloved, a thought that is my creation.
Not alone, am I. My window is my world.
Comments
What a fantastic video
I can see why you were inspired to write such a compelling poem. I got locked in on the line “I picked flowers.” As a boy I gathered all the Tiger Lilies I could carry out of the meadow and brought them home to my mother. She was pleased of course but I noticed that next year the meadow had few lilies for I had picked them all and the seeds fell around the vases instead of germinating in the ground.