The Seeker

the universe is
[for any who so choose]
in a garden in Mouries –
or Van Gogh’s room in Arles –
one weird wall
[not a drafting mistake
an unexpected angle]
a red blanket
a rough-hewn bed
a chair, a window

what? do you really think
there must be more?
these are not enough?
forensically speaking
god’s DNA’s all over the place

nor is HOLINESS confined
to the inordinately gifted –
the fair-haired child
sitting in my line of vision
pencilling responses
in the homework chair
[at the family dining table]
is haloed by a plate
hung above the buffet

is not a dimension of time

is more a subject of Today
than a vassal of Forever

I see myself
in the boy’s puzzlement
although I think I do
remember correctly how much
eight times eleven is…

senses strained
again and again
to gain access
to the essence
of experience
[or perhaps
to experience
the essence of]
the essential


is living
and knowing it



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