face up, mouth open

when now has no surface meeting my senses

or substance has no mass representing to mean,

is when I am out of thought.

out on my emotional own.

facing the embarrassment of vast presenting,

because my sensory aware,

mentally constructed,

claims it to be so.

I am still claiming separate from, 

as if approaching is atrophying the self of me,

by giving away all sensory,

as if all is of provoked thought,

all of boundaryness, dutifully confined,

as all, is of eventual quantifications mentally defined.

no more of icicle hangouts in a winter storm,

with windy attention paid to circumstance,

as if going through weather changes into melting.

onto the ground of puddling,

with evaporative and ground absorption

along the way into streaming disappearance as motion.

for me to recognize myself 

as in the last immediate drop of a me,

into an invisible stream carrying me onward.

finally, not as a me 

but fluidly in gravity prayer,

the embrace of vast liquidity,

yet, no singular thought provoked. 

waiting here in the ocean of oneness, 

for sky to take me,

as motion and gravity dismiss my yearning.

no more the yearning journey, 

as a desperate plea.

words escape out of me. 

thermals seem to matter.

current states, as my religion, are evaporative. 

my set of the last of the sensory input,

moving to set me free.

if I come back as a cloudburst,

put your face up

mouth open and receiving.

and drink me 

as a wisdom of oneness expressing . . .