The Glass Pebblestones
In a place where
there is nothing
But a level
plain and a lake
Shimmering and
translucent
Are many glass
pebblestones
On a trail there;
waiting, refulgent
Many treasured
battles are hid there
All preserved
inside
Each stone with
its own entity was left
For a thing of
LIFE was in them
Lowering the sun
casts their long shadows
And there a
picture of where they weren’t
The dark place
where the thing wasn’t
In an earthly
lowering of an inner light
My sun sinks
And the more I
have of the shadows of things
Empty pictures
of glass pebblestones
Not their
substance
The lower the
light the longer my imaginings
And the more I
had of what isn’t
The higher, the
harder my wisdom sight
The smaller, my
deceptions
And the less I
had of what wasn’t
In a heavenly lifting of an inner oyster
seeing
My sun rises
And the less I
have of the illusions of things
Outside were the
pretenses: not ‘it’
Not the real
thing and the pearl itself
Outer sight made
semblance of realities
Where really I
had . . .
Nothing
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