untitled, but wholesome

There’s a space in the heart of the eye that sees.     

in all, the flickering secrets yet shadowed

and burrowed in the greasy pockmarked clouds.

Further searching - inhaling silver dust of questions yet unanswered,

        that all dissolve under scrutiny.

There are no answers in being endlessly incomplete-

Only pain and the unending potential for pleasure.  

With quiet breezes of music, 

Melody of once-again Spring.

Recumbent delusion - inevitable growth

That space becomes a seed, lovely flowers will sprout.

Blooming, within your iris, these petals inscribe your truth.

may 7, 2022