Mind Scattered

I settle at my spot, ready to order.
The window blinds rustle slightly,
my mind is scattered in fragments,
A sudden thought, Giacometti's
sculpture is movement and stillness both,
though all things move.

I find Burton's Arabian Nights,
in a second hand bookstore.
A thousand to one, destined appointment.

All is quiet the children are at school.
One regret,
I never mastered Latin, or Greek.
I'm left with clay, wax, hunks of space,
defining stuff, stuff for outlining.
Color are shapes
are cups of tea or coffee
And the discipline of fasting,
bits of code . .

I read the menu in tears,
Sailing through
a sea of words.

Sand Light Being

in a box, I found more than a boxful
of diamonds
clusters of light, whole galaxies,
this is not the history of my self anymore.
it is not history
anymore.

dreams, notes sketches, premonitions - it is all there
observed, traced, it may be reconstructed
no need
for the first time I see with a mind
that is not my mind.

what a confinement is the narrow path of cause
and effect
yet we have made the world after these

each moment embraces, just a moment
those little flyspecks, the pitch and pull of passion
desperation
there is a universe below, around, above
each one

a developing something
an emerging something
perfecting
an active possession, all living, all at once
all the lights are on.

not from a distance, looking this way as if at
caged animals
or through a surveyor's lens.

but a radiant luminosity, a simultaneity, relieved of the
burden to think
just one thing.

and with no need for a center, simply no need for that
the total is without boundary
yet gentle.