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Ucd Belfield Metaphysical

The sky is a mere exhibition in pools of rain until the sun
unfolds the froth of clouds casting off cosmic oceans
of light and without horizon limitless, where there is silence

No sense and white grains sifting infinitesimally tiny
winds of light, fine salt of light that does not blind the eyes
because seeing is seeing more than ever in distance

If not forever, endless in dimensions beyond comprehension
there is no heat or sound. Silence: the obverse of the world.
Where is this zone? The return, with tactile contact at the railings
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Wednesday, April 1, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: visionary

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6/18/2021 7:38:44 AM #