The Void Is Not One

No one escapes the miracle of embodiment.
Emptiness demands uxorious paramours.

The void is not one.
She sparkles with the matter of the dark.

Thus your pure heart pounds
Two ancient drums of hollow probability -

The Lover and Beloved, lying among
Palpitating berries under a vegus tree

In the quantum entanglement of your
Nerve garden, both green and inconceivable.

This is how you dance when breath
Meets breath in the bower of stillness,

How you return to the hearthstone beneath
Your sternum, where the pilgrimage never began.

Why else would angels yearn for birth, if not
To feel the wings of rapture and desolation?

They gaze into waveless light, but you have
Sunrise and sunset over an ocean

Of unfathomable aloneness.
No one escapes the miracle of embodiment -

Not even God.