Dissolution

Why do I insist on the inimitability of perception?

That the blue I see is not the blue you view?

Am I comforted by the illimitability of deception

proving nothing can be proven to be true?

.

I’ve just come back from walking through the snow.

I’d watched it coming down in what the wind blew

cinematically in squalls and drifts across my window:

persuasive evidence that what I saw was there. Few

.

moments can persuade like this: wherein I barely

think to ask if what I’m seeing has occurred.

In fact, belief in it grew absolute – how rarely

trust to that degree has breached my world! Word

.

no longer was a symbol: it was indistinguishable

from a palpable Reality: this “snow” was snow.

And so I walked into it in an un-extinguishable

light, both real and in my sight, to undergo

.

what I was sure would be the actual.

That I wouldn’t do what now I only do: refuse.

That to find what I had thought I sought, the factual,

would not have led to dissolution, or killed my muse.

.

When things are real

they tear apart

the heart. They steal

your art.

.

.