“Memory knows before knowing remembers” – William Faulkner
We begin at the beginning,
each time, without realizing
we’ve already completed the task.
No matter, as the essence is journey,
from here to there and back again,
rounding the sun,
gathering terrestrial clarity
from the sweep of a long-distance view.
Magic draws her breath in mystery,
beyond grasp of mortal cleverness.
Lighting your senses,
in the blink of an unexpectant eye,
you’re at once on fire, as dazzling
hues and tones and flavors are birthed
into crisp display, an epiphany of small things,
lifting your heart
into the blaze of holy sensuality.
You shout and scream and dance about,
you hunger to linger here,
to clasp this miracle,
astonished to discover that
it no longer lives as what it was,
lost forever in the newness of this moment now.
It is an emptying out, you see,
as each artifact of faculty is transmuted
through the filter of memory.
Slipping into immeasurable timelessness
puts an end to all deception
and to every agony.
A droplet lands in the ocean, amplifying
its influence to infinity,
the shot heart round the world.
Ending, even as it has just begun.