Maha-Mantra

For just an instant
                    between breaths
                                      be held
      in the gentle palm
                        of desolation.
   Let a wing

        of desirelessness
                       glide up your spine,
    ringing the star bell
                    in each vertebra,
       turning the cells
                          of your body into
   chalices of golden fire.
                If this be too abstract,
  remember how her lips
       seemed to melt as they
rose up to press your tongue
                               for sustenance.
Is it not the same pressing,
                      the same nectar?
                Gaze until you burn
     a black hole in her face.
Use memory for fuel.
                                    Then look
     into seeing itself and see
how your eyes precede creation.  
          Your eyes are the Vedas,
    mirror-yantras
                             opening a way
to the darkness of love.
            But first you need
                  to exhale everything
      you ever believed.
Surrender the argument.
              Resist not, then whisper
    the great
            liberating
                     maha-mantra,
"I don't know."