A beggar? A thief?
Maybe someone who sees
the beginning and the end
writ large around us, constantly without any sense
of where things must be driven
back into themselves, so that
this lagoon has enough reef
to survive, so that it is fringed
by enough of the psyche to continue to invite
the right kind of questions.
Not fear, not abuse and not projection;
I have nothing for you except sweetness, and love,
and neverending transformation.
You see?
Once you recognise this,
no secret is too hard to hold in quiet, soluble retention:
nothing else has to be given perpetual notice
that it is under pretension:
for when you, without ego-inflation, can simply say
I am the secret—
it only is a matter of time
before even the darkest defenestrations
begin to gleam in the dawning day.
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