Glowworm At The Threshold

The dream factory is always busy Weaving a fabric of memory and fantasy It takes talent to follow that baseline All those spontaneous aesthetic decisions To attend to that music, one has to care About that flux of shadows in emptiness... About wispy distinctions in a dissolving cloud... And who can amplify such things Unless they have grown disgusted With the pitfalls of everyday desire? To tease out implications Becomes the game of thought To look beyond the glowworm's charm And see it signalling at the threshold Marking a portal of perception