Idea's incandescent pitch,
A summer baseball thrown endlessly
Among the city boys.
It's delivered at first light
With the fulgurations in the bridal shoppe,
The thought that these ideas
Set us free
At least for that hot instant
Before the gossip of
Joy downclicks
To ennui.
There is a symmetry
Between a mind that thinks
And a world that is
Just thought.
The holy wands and golden books
Were merely residue
Of what's pinned now to a spinning spool
Of otherworldly blue.
It lifts an idea,
Gives it power
In our mind,
Any idea, any mind,
It all becomes the one divine
Totalizing conscience
That feels
What it knows.
