Though no thought can get
there, there
is a tiny crack
in the circle of self.
The shadows stretch
far beyond
what you can see,
but there is another kind of sight.
The day of arrival,
signified by a burning sun
set at just the right angle
to all these breaking waves,
your whole galaxy formed
by infinite returns
for this single moment
of grace
like a pulse
which passes understanding:
all your masks removed,
bare and unburdened
before time begins
and after it ends and in
every instant, simply
silent and still.
Still here, forever.
So we let the poet stand
and pretend to sing his truth,
though if you reflect
on his ignorance,
you'll realise
it was never his
and that the message
has not changed.
Give up
even this acceptance
of the light, for what is
is greater.