Within the greatest gift is known
The perfect frame of mind.
The here of where and now of nigh
are placed where they can thrive.
The sparks from everything that glows
Are centered within life,
Which are so clearly to be seen
Within your glimmering eyes.

Within the greatest time one knows
The space that makes up life.
The moments that make up all nowís
Raise worldly points to life.
So simply, yet not so simply,
Each thread weaves to complete
The richness of the substance
That transcend the bounds of leave.

In that there is no way to prove
The texture found in time
Is more or less than you expect
Devine restraint provide.
So seemingly and unknowingly
You cannot presuppose
The sight you wish not to care or hold
Will never touch your soul.

Reminders of the vows you made
Projected by the fears
Of loosing sight of what and how
Nothing will get too near.
The nothing, is that something?
Is that being and not alone?
To being something in-between
Something you could condone.

From the hip, not from the heart
Your clearly, dearly hold.
But can you say you know for sure
Where dauntlessness might flow?
Deny not which has not been said
For little is that sure.
Can you hope to stake the way
Where surely waits a pearl?

Cross the way, criss and cross
In front of and behind -
Beside, below, above, floats time.
(That whirlpool space confines.)
Providence in never more
Or less that you will find
In what you may have always known
Could be sweetly so sublime.

From sea to sea and shore to shore
From dawn to setting sun,
And throughout every starlit night
Until the final dawn,
This sojourn we do venture through
Extract a daily cost.
Do you see, and donít you laugh,
youíre far more than you lost?

So what was lost, maybe misplaced,
And yet to be upraised;
trust, it seems, within your self
Beyond protected ways.
You never have betrayed your self
But circumspect you move.
So much so that I fumble fear
That this haven blocks your view.

The ebbs and flows of change, no doubt,
Contain a luscious brew.
We sip or gulp as we recount
Perhaps we always knew.
This cannot be, nor could it be,
Something beyond just hope?
Could you see, or can you see,
Or might you see it closed?

What does ring true is what I know
And what does not, I donít.
It weeps from inconsistency
Just like a hangmanís rope.
I donít deny just how much joy
Might be espied beyond.
Do you, have you, pre supposed
Rather suffer it be perchance.

May 12, 1994