The Gaze looks out from itself; but not really…
We blink in the mirror and what do we see?
Is it me, you, them, us, we?
Broken images can make the best of friends

 Passageways of participation cloud clarity
But winds of past loves can be worn as comfort at home
Another world is only a mistaken case of creation
That fails to feel its own self-groaning

 We pass each other BY without knowing the way
We pass INTO each other without sight
Yet a star stifled will still shine its invisible rays
Marking the only real transmission of Truth!

 Are we afraid of being carried or caught up
In a flow we cannot see or hear?
A mysterious wave of past familiarity
Seeks to wean us from our fallow-ness!

 The Great Guide will lead us over the pass;
Not a divide, but a simple fabric we’ve woven with care
The color will gather in scale,
All blurred in soothing beauty

 Yet we follow into the opening,
Opening outward, inward, expanding
Touches of simile bide a death
That is only a joyful return of the sacred seamstress!

3/15/15  tpt