Moksha-Un

I want to be the empty hanging frame

and the wall.

Nail.

Hammer.

The blue missing in a gray day.

I want to be the point of twilight

where the entire world vanishes.

The finger that converses with

the petal of a flower. Spilled salt

and nearly empty dishes.

I want to be the photograph that is

out of focus but compelling, none-the-less.

Cosmic image of cosmic Self.

I want to be buried with the bones

of the native's feast, and rubbed along

the hot embers of a dying campfire

only to return and do it all again.

The little, the hard, the big of it all...

Again

and Again.

and Again.

TIM