Where were we then
when we were comparing
our past experiences,
in summaries of
each other's anecdotes?
Simmering towards
unknown romance,
deep within the struggle
to climb through each other
towards the mystery
presumed as self?
Does nostalgia ever transcend
its feet of clay and look up
instead of back?
There we were burning memories
in front of each other's face,
page by page,
to keep the light going,
to keep the reflection aglow,
driving us with charged cameos,
remembered and warmly so.
Would I be lost to myself
for not understanding
all these implications?
Would I be no good for you
if this is how I question now?
Are we both winding down,
tallying dramas against serenities,
blames against injustices?
Have I carried a sacred torch
and you embraced a faceless spirit?
Do I carry your embrace
of a faceless spirit
and do you embrace
my carrying a sacred torch?
From all these metaphors,
are we lessons to expose
and represent to the other,
riddles to be stripped away?
Are we that method of sacred silence
in the other’s presence
that can kibbutz yet reflect forth
energetic truth over time?
Are we monks of invisibility
to each other,
sharing the same
dispositional confinement of space
by combing each other's aura
within the same shared breath?
Are we force fed to the passion
in each other's nature?
Do we hide as being separate
yet mentors to the share of soul?
Did we make rubbings and pressings
of all that we are
to look beyond the evidence
for a faintness of spirit presenting?
Why, to have a mind for it all
and pawn everything
for another empty moment's
shared full embrace?
Seeking source is this painful stand.
There have been flashes and visions
but we honestly stepped over
everything of notice
for this shared empty fullness.
Maybe this all is a slow dance
as the death of disclosure,
a death of all we know
and possibly have cared for,
a death in deed
of purpose and doing,
maybe even a death
for the separateness
of you and I . . .
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