And the past becomes extraneous,
A different place
Whose echoes merely throb.
The light above your street
Seems like something known
But what you follow is the dark,
A new unknowing,
Where what you are turns actual
As the world blurs to chimera --
The voice you hear says only
How you don't exist
But you are past the point
Of adding in a self,
For there is nothing but the way
You are moving,
Not knowing this,
Not sensing that,
And what you're left with
Mostly hole.
It's the closest you need go,
For you see how it is there,
No matter how infinitesimal
It becomes,
The great unknowable,
The source, the origin,
That thing you're always looking for
Called you.
