an enigma, an absurdity
stringing some strange emptiness, a holy madness bursting full
unfolding favor
like a parchment endlessly, darkly brilliant
surely able, between nothing and one, a no-man's land
is the palace of a female mystic mansion, where only night senses
one mind effacing piles and piles of chaos softly
upon which this
breathes that
through and through, collapsing eternally
into an ever reverberating lifeforce
hovering plosive pivots of unuttered tradition set free
drunk without distinction, some wine of the timeless time to come
a martial art, an utter clarity
running and returning, iterating
feminine mystery communicating all goodness, like a key
ever beyond sound, yet still peacefully permeating script
the essential mark, above without end, below without bound
answering every prayer
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