for Tom Mandel
Love must see all things that are
But not with any eye.
The thought must rise from darkling waters,
yet still gloss clear and dry.
The heart must mimic life lived large
in its sentences and fate;
accepting time without an end,
and enter at the gateless gate.
The body, all its time undone,
must yield itself to air.
The soul, a dream no longer dreamed,
must freeze upon those spiral stairs,
That lead up to an arc of light
which circles in that storm
where no eye sees all things that are,
where that which is, is born.
— 1995 @ The Confluence