In Search of Supreme Blossoms

Before polarity claimed me,
I could know just by seeing—
The world was a mirror encrusted with being
And nothing needing to be freed.

Before I was home,
The mask of my seeming
Infected my lips
With idiot praise—

Before the birth of theory,
The whole thing was recovered
In silence and in crystal
Without the flesh expended
For grief and distraught dreaming.

Numb before the saucer's blur
I thread the darkness
Weaving measures out of notes.

All realities are protected, final, complete;
I wait for a glimmer of the true.
Autumn evening, ripping away the curtain,
We must light the clouds on fire each night...