hold it gently in my hand, that my attention not disturb it
the mind is a dry riverbed; it drinks the sound of water
a dream is dispelled by a voice; a sudden flash of bedroom lights
causes the lovers to pull apart, ashamed of their beauty
a flower that is plucked can be shared, but no longer lives

a friend asked me to consider her work: instead I consider myself
her work asked me to consider World: inclusive, I consider Self

to be complete, the spark must touch the wood
and to be completed, the wood will be consumed

so love will have a purpose and a consequence
and action will find meaning out of love

I draw out filaments of thought
as a spider draws out gossamer from himself
and hangs a thread in the middle of the air
first he catches dew, then food

~

in the moment of surrender the lovers can create –
the universe and Universal meet
the fingertip of created will be touched
by the fingertip's Creator
through this embrace life races

the truest love is not for self, but Self
and drawn like gossamer from the body
is written like a shining Word mid-air
the child of this union holds the world

so love takes form in action
in whispers, touches, lingered glances
slow, then faster, then wilder dances
where thought becomes no thinking

spark touches wood and the fire chases
electric Spirit licks the bodies' fibers
and burns them into ash
in the void some new thing takes shape

~

our little human actions will be empty
unless they are conceived in this embrace
unless my call to effort comes
of love
it will not convince

for every being is a gossamer thread
and written from the same stuff as the sun
knows when it greets the morning
or when it faces night

in every action ask your Self:
does it reflect my love? my love, my love…
the one pure act you have is giving birth
to something that is greater than yourself