The eye of the storm, the eye
of the beholder, the dog in the heart,
and the dark junkyard angel, join me
here in this soft blue house
where my days emerge and fold
into each other, simple and seamless
emptying me and infusing the world with peace.
To grow this, I lose touch, like the flowering crab apple
shadow-blossoms flung across the wall. I follow
whatever knocks me loose from myself, leaves unstuck
but not free, in no need of God-glue; what I feel
takes its shape from what I am not. If I were sharing
my life with someone, intimately, I would call this Love,
but solitary, motionless, I can only say that I move
accompanied by mystery into mystery.