Unlikely Poem by John Dowdall

When only water captures the image of your bearing as you walk by.
Is the image a human being, like you, some where under another sky?

Your mind is pulsing and you can't collect your thoughts. Is this because your mind is moving out to inspire another mind that is fraught?

When you cross a bridge, Is it really a bridge that will stand once in space and time, or is continuously built and knocked down in another place or time?

... And infinitely more mysteries.

Our sensed worlds die if our sensed existence collapses on itself. Is all we know just a shroud of nothing true, so we can only truly sense something else? Is our true sense our essence?

Nothing's strange, just the way it seems, though maybe truly it is not. We are a part of the uncanny creation, but as real as our essence. Can we only truly sense when filled with patience, humility and love.