but if a living dance upon dead minds
why,it is love;but at the earliest spear
of sun perfectly should disappear
moon’s utmost magic,or stones speak or one
name control more incredible splendor than
our merely universe, love’s also there:
and being here imprisoned,tortured here
love everywhere exploding maims and blinds
(but surely does not forget,perish, sleep
cannot be photographed,measured;disdains
the trivial labelling of punctual brains…
-Who wields a poem huger than the grave?
from only Whom shall time no refuge keep
though all the weird worlds must be opened?
what if the petals fell from this flower
dropped floated to the floor flying to the right of this table
the smile of your face deepened across the pillow
i wouldn’t see it no i’d only see your hand loosen and your face press closer to the cotton
and if the tree sits still shading my feet along this couch
and the books lay gently on one another about to drift down across down my shelf
Who stops the counting of moments here? the falling of this flower sings louder
than a thousand motors )Love
Perhaps one of the best reflections on my poem.
– Greeting from the world beyond