let it go,
It swirls up sideways,
pretends to dissipate,
Rolls in again
with orneryness intact,
The echoing roar
of what we would call ego,
The cry of the victor
and what was it worth,
To say you are real
and of experiential value,
What was nothing
to anyone else,
Full as they all were
of the not-your experience,
A froth you had to somehow
conduct to the shore
To the peal of
gull whistles
And the shrieks of
wet children
Still caught
inside the rapture,
Would it matter
how you bowed
As you whisked
the veil away
To what was hardly
seen anyhow?
You were part
of the story
That made us believe
in the lie
Of who was included
and who was denied,
What facts were grafted
from air
And who was made
to disappear,
Mere loser to the dramatic turn
of surf,
The story they want
in the face of
The theme you live,
that survives
The names replaced
and buildings swapped,
The tide that swirls
around it
Is some old poet
given wideness of berth
And ample moon
for baying,
But a distant background
just the same
To the ruling belief
that stands
In stark relief
and takes
What you'd call your life
and flings it like dead daisies,
What never really moved
from its vase
And has been in your
secret keeping
From time immemorial
just waiting for your eye,
To see yourself finally,
as large as God
And infinitely
tiny.
