Seedling

You take the high road
and I’ll take the low mode
of lying down today –
roll up into quietude. Shrewd
and shifty how the ways

and means of consciousness
keep making you believe
in what you think you see.
Dreaming helps a little: then,
at least, you’re caught

red-handed: who is manufacturing
the view but you? But when
the eyes un-lid and you’re
seduced into the hybrid
grid of influences in and out:

well, there’s a recipe for
doubt. I’d like to think
there’s something so unutterably
sweet encompassing
the existential blasting horror

of experience: the lone dark
cold exploding asteroid
of being here must surely
orbit in some warmer, lighter
field somewhere: a gentle

if completely undetectable
dimension of okay. Perhaps
if I dream deep enough
I’ll find the seedling of the thing,
and make it bloom, and stay.

.