what vast collection of tiny things
those tiny thieves of breath
things, themselves, invisible; brought
from the great On High
into stunning coalescence
showering blessings of splendor & delight
upon all that lives beneath their surface
held together by the billions & shaped
into delicately stuffed pillows, showy shapes
& stories
already unfurling,
blankets that cover,
blankets that open up,
blankets that reveal & unleash & reveal & soak & soar
among
everything else of unfathomable depth oh,
these tiny things, each but a little mirror, together inspiring reflection
each but a looking glass
opening the portal
through which
light
might pass—can’t stay but
must dance!—
out into all that dazzles
oh spectacular, oh water’s spirit that shapes & bends
& takes shape & gives space
forgets itself into newness into downpour into curtains that only
time might part might will into something capable
of drowning in itself as it journeys to earth
to land
into soil that sips from each family of these wondrous tiny things, taking flight.
oh constellation of mirrors
oh beautiful amnesia of water drops
oh to be and behold and beheld
as a simple trick of the light:
make a wish & see it
float above you into all the shapes you never knew
were possible; all the shapes
you could only see for their chorus of reflection.
when they taught me to meditate, they invited me:
imagine thoughts in this passing way,
shaped by the invisible winds of consciousness
alight with the myriad earth tones reflected in the mundane
that i might look on them this way
from the far off perspective of meaning-making,
fashioning them into things i’ve known before:
tactile things, tangible things, things
i’ve grasped after, longed to hold in curious palms
without polluting them with the illusion of permanence
with the heaviness of gravity...
with the lightness of breath:
with the amnesia of water:
everything learns the possibility of falling
of taking shape as something else
