the why I cried,
(the first four times I met you)
your seeing out from those eyes
is from a long way back there,
where you view me from,
kind of inside out,
knowing me that way,
before I had motive,
before I took up a sense of self, personified.
you are from the homeland that had no mass.
I see you seeing me that way
and I am drawn up.
I am taken out of circumstance,
given the right of being without proof needed.
your lead eye anoints me
while your follow eye holds me in the light.
there is comfort all over your face,
original, consummate and reviving.
how I ever had lapses of hopelessness escapes me.
it isn’t that I now remember from then
but more so, that I am.
you seem to be asking me
to grow from where I am transcendent.
mesmer-eyes’d absorbing my indifference,
to refute the truth of me you are gaze-proposing.
what you are saying takes up all of the space
where heart is the homeland,
spirit is the faculty of vision,
and soul lives beyond the knowing of itself.
I lay down in my response of your witness.
I am spread across lifetimes of measure.
now from then to forward is rest assured.
it exists not as a memory but an isness.
one ocean poured through
from your contemplative view,
is the viscosity of love
beyond the knowing . . .
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