In my youth, I didn’t
see the coin, only heads or tails,
and I could not see the forest for the trees.
I walked the narrow path of enigma and cliché
with no room for the super-colliding
or a subatomic particle’s brief foray into space and time.
I had stumbling meter, but not a couplet’s rhyme.
Now I see neither the forest nor the
only the ever-present likelihood of green.
The either-or is such a silly prom night theme.
It is the fool who tries to separate the
river from the sea,
to divide lovers in the act of love into he or she
or to split particle and wave, erasing the ecstasy of light.
But, I hear you ask, what happens to the
when the tide washes ashore and sinks into the sand?
I have been where you are standing, but now
I do not see such a beginning or an end,
for the shoreline is seamless in a cosmos on the mend.
I divine the wholeness of Earth and star and galaxy.
I feel, but do not see, that time, like
forever folds upon itself, forever bends.
It is said that the most memorable of kisses never ends.