Look about! Rout the air
around your here-and-there
by intuition and by eye!
Free your pesky essences
to fly up to the not-blue-who-
knows-what-to-call-that-color sky –
with its arrays, displays and phases,
dips and rises of its cream-gray-
facilities at ease with, and evincing,
something like the tenor and the texture
of the wanton hues you’d readily
imagine would prepare you
for whatever views,
should they be granted,
you’d be shown of Soul.
If you’d like to, gaze with rue at others
who pass through the Whole
as if it were a color-free vacuity.
(What a nothing day!, they say.)
But don’t pray that they find a way
to see its harrowingly gorgeous panoply.
We’ve all our separate eyes and cares.
Who dares say they know what ours are,
much less theirs?
But wheee! Stick around for you and me
and these dimensional immensities:
teasing from the sky new sips and senses,
whiffs and glimpses of its being,
and of the heat and light and art of seeing.