Why waste your life believing
that the sun is above
and the earth below,
only to discover
too late, too late
that starlight gushes
from every pore of your body
the moment you begin
to dance?
Why travel from here to there?
All journeys are over
but the deepening of now.
Your heartbeat is a shaman's drum.
Don't move: be moved.
One treasure is left to find:
the flame you were
before you started the search.
Spring is an intuition
crinkled in cocoons.
Your laughter can do something
and the earth below,
only to discover
too late, too late
that starlight gushes
from every pore of your body
the moment you begin
to dance?
Why travel from here to there?
All journeys are over
but the deepening of now.
Your heartbeat is a shaman's drum.
Don't move: be moved.
One treasure is left to find:
the flame you were
before you started the search.
Spring is an intuition
crinkled in cocoons.
Your laughter can do something
about that.
Ferns make fists all Winter,
waiting for your belly
to unbreathe.
Now fall among pale bulbs
in black soil
on the only world
Ferns make fists all Winter,
waiting for your belly
to unbreathe.
Now fall among pale bulbs
in black soil
on the only world
that is really yours,
and touch the heavens
with your knees.
with your knees.
Painting: detail from Botticelli's Allegory of Spring
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