I tried to escape from myself once
And they cawed "You are not supposed
To be here." The second time they stopped me
In mid-flight, to invite me to consider
The vast door they stood before
That could now be opened.
It wasn't the truth after all
That matched the gold
But forgiveness of my own need to hold it,
In whatever form it presents itself, shifty
Leprechaun to unstoppable shift, the floors
Becoming crystalline, the air viewable
As it would be to a fish.
Whatever you make becomes the truth
And there's only the thinnest thread now
Between desire and manifestation.
The world can exist separate from this,
On another hillside, where other oaks shimmy.
In this one, the silence is all-consuming —
Every word becomes true.
