I want to live in the infinitely small space
Where the light of the sun paints the oak leaves in quiet illumination,
Where the night is a herdsman for the stars
That shine brightest in my periphery.
I want to ride wild on a dustmote
Spinning in the whirlwind of rising thermals
When the sun bathes the afternoon through high windows,
Or to wade through the waves of slow moonlight
Between still clouds that whisper silence in the rising and falling tide.
Or, maybe, what I really want —
What I really want is to simply sit on the side
Of the long pond and watch the light make love to the water
That in turn blows luminous kisses to the Japanese maples;
To sneak into the dancehall of the time-unbound-threefold-unity,
Where life bursts like light in the darkness and is not overcome,
Only to find that I’ve been invited in all along.