And literally create
God in the sky,
Real only in my belief --
That's the revolution,
The real altar of belief,
The thing to view
Is you.
Can you reverse the charge
Of the entire cosmos
To find that tiny seed
That has it all?
Or should I be
Like Brio,
One apple and enough
Foam to breed a Venus,
Every moment
Is a choice,
That's the thing.
The world exists to be seen,
Other people exist
For your mirroring,
The holy obligation
To accept these gifts
As gifts,
For every universe
In every cell turned
To bring it to you
Without complaint,
Without confusion,
For you are the end of the search,
The alpha and -- the omega,
The black and the white
On the cookie
Traumatized or amused
In the New York minutes
By the bird song
Of cab horns,
Every peep for attention
Measured, to infinite degrees.
So broad is the experience
In the band where you landed.
Nothing is lost,
Nothing went missing,
Nothing is real
But the moment of contact.
It can only be love
That doesn't come from you
Exactly, nor does it come
From anyone you long for.
The only thing you can know it as
Is truth.
