The altar showed anomaly,
an orb of light,
a foil for small realities
that I could easily forget
but for that twilight cast,
to things I touch or dream--
that spirit song sequestered
where I cannot go.
Thoughts of relevance
...of perceptions being reconciled
with the mundane
then smiling at myself:
all those are imprints on the mind
vibrating in the here and now
and possibly across the isthmus
in the place where peace prevails.
Orbs are discreet and diffident,
and when you chase them down,
they're gone. No peace remains
this side of consciousness,
yet on the journey of the open heart
an awe ineffable, a resolution that a dream
would trust and understand.
Or a dream within a dream?
Reality is ill defined. Yours, mine...
until the breath is gone
and consciousness fights on
to redefine the light.
And you and I will take awareness
to the end of day--and bless it,
certain that the night descends
to claim its own dark benefice
and decorous ecstacy.