It is here where we stand
as dancers on the edge of light,
here, and only here on the edge, is
the opportunity to know the dance beyond the mortal,
no longer frozen in the terror of contraction,
a free flow, gracious, without ever any landing.
We cannot own ourselves, nor each other,
nor the momentary fragrance of a flower,
let alone a solitary drop of dew or a single star,
nor sacrifice ourselves to momentary events.
but only come across wondrous features,
that drift through our senses in a slow procession.
There is the illusion of a happiness later on,
and its capacity to cripple linings of a fragile stomach.
I don’t want to escape into a stony silence,
nor flee tortoise like into my shell of self-existence.
Have you experienced anything more sparkling and dangerous
to the self than this fissure of uncertain sweetness –
dissolving into the seamless wonder?
Our shadows can only offer us a bizarre security
but I have no wish to give shape
to my wild and uncertain life.
I won’t dishonour the wilderness with a life plan,
the great breath moves me along at its will,
while the only sacrifice occurred before I took birth,
knowing that decisions clung to or rejected
trample on the wild flowers in the forest.
I only wish to learn to love without assurances,
so that I can enjoy the terrible rumble of the ocean.