the easing of your lid

when thinking a lot and always
of things that you know
bees ring soft and long          clear
and your fingers grow and reach
to sing on the surface of things

(the insides are much too large and far and wide and near)

light tightens like violin strings
through the thinness of air
a sound rushes safely through
there is no resistance here
there is no muting here

in purity and form
the sound flows tightly and together
from somewhere to there
from there to somewhere
here.

between orange and red
the softening of your shell
eases your lid
and welcomes me
         right
         on
         through


                                                                       i sink dancingly in in in

when thinking of a lot and always
i already fell
into one step that flew
and fingers grew and reached
to sing on the surface of things

with a sound and a step
long forgotten and too soon found
in a waiting corner
where the magicians gather

i am welcomed
      right
      on
      through

                                                                     to sink dancingly in
                                                                                               in


                                                                                               in

this me

a place remembered
a moment come and gone and here and then
to take away
the other worldly non
to take away
this we this us this i and you and me

color lights corners on fire
they burn down to embers and an echo
the glow leaves a whisper
in bending light pulled tight around an empty
moment who is actually full
every(thing)

an instinct guides you home
to a nonplace a nontime an unknown
an instinct born of home
an instinct born one thousand years ago
sings toward
a moment when everything worth breathing
everything worth my touch and
sound
and stare
calls upon the instinct that guides me home

i cannot remember
precisely where this moment lives
i cannot say this light was born this morning
(one thousand years ago its color might have shifted slightly down or up)
i cannot touch a thing i don't command

i do not command this memory
i do not command you
nor do i command this me.

a place remembered is
where you and every all

whisper.