She Loved Mind
She said she loved my mind;
for an instant I became 31 and handsome,
then the crystal disco ball cycled once more,
it flashed before me as a picture of Dorian Gray,
his face melting.
The cut diamond has far less facets than a mind,
if you love a mind you must accept
its closeted secrets, its dark bottomless pits,
then forgive the light for being so bright
a conjuring incandescence
that makes the mind’s appearance featureless.
Where the mind wanders the brain must stubble after
stupidly blinking its cyclopean eye.
This love that she has for the mind - she must be a poet,
for the mind is not a Kingdom built in any known landscape.
One mind with all its infinite guises
jumps instantly into any form, anybody.
The end of the mind is its beginning,
for in that measureless moment
the mind reveals one last face,
one just born, a nativity burning bright,
then like a birds outstretched wings
it flies to the love it always sought.
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