Sunday Poem


The keys again.
It's back to counting steps keeping lists and still
It's elusive, something
He can't remember the ingredients for.

Then it's nothing-
Or nothing to hang onto. Good.
But there you are.
“Oh, but it's not me, I am a declaration of invisibility.”

Drifting, floating, pulse of pure consciousness
Wishful thinking, fleeing the mortal coil
Somewhere around here.

Seeing all, feeling all, and at the same time.
Hope, requiring the ubiquity
A heartbeat of love

Mind's eye retraces diamond-like
Cut in countless fractures, rays
Finger the key

Brilliant morning light
On the steps

by Walter Burnham