En Route, The Wings Of Doves

Within the seeds of any given day Hope is a pomegranate In this indivisible joy, Joy is a sweet, sacred fig So let us then look Introspectively and find Ourselves and meditate On this one true—god On this, our negatively Charged; spherical world. Is he as you are A vital spark A vital energy A horse-chestnut seed Encased and entombed Impartial to soil types. Is he as you are A pervasive luminous star An omniscient fruit of knowledge A neutral, reactionary Or a non-reactionary atom Fluxed, between loves. Can he be smashed? Can he be tamed? Can he be superseded? Soured or sweetened Kernelled just the same Into one abstracted heaven. Today I turned An old corner And like a new sun Consuming an old fire Like the underbelly Of a green wet stone Again, newly turned over- I inwardly, momentarily Shone with the apprehending Of life's cessation, translucent As a waterfall, attaining Its full, uneven flow Skilfully, without meaning I saw the clouds migrate And the populous huddled In the cold grey streets Grey pigeons on mass En route, the wings of doves.