Monday, October 4, 2010

the confinement of words p.3

Three letters I gave for this infinite alphabet,
all of myself, for the heart to speak it.
And still, speechless, empty handed...
This continuity of impermanence,
like clutching smoke, seeking solidity,
sifting through ash, for that which doesn't burn.
Before the sanctity of breath,
I am nothing but the formlessness
that defines form,
the forgetfulness before memory
and the latency that gives birth to bloom.
This dance, from nothing to something,
and its love story in every entity,
is my only articulation of being.

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