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
