Love dissolves
particles into waves.
Lovers let go
of any distinction
between doing and not doing.
When a mother nurses her child
she suckles the galaxy.
Who among us is the doer?
God is milk
pressed out by thirsty mouths.
In the blackness
at the center of swirling
all is still for trillions of years.
Yet here it
rains,
then the lilacs
like unfolding skies
burst from their tombs of light.
Do what you will, friend,
the world remains
as it is.
Even the sun is encircled
by darkness.
Without love, all is dust.
Try to be more and more
like that infant,
churning this ocean of cream
with tiny lips
and a yearning heart.
Painting: Picasso, 'Maternity,' 1905
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