Shift

Turning to beautifully spoken words,

As if I cannot speak myself.

Like one who listens to opera all day.

Appreciating the siren sound,

When I can sing my own song.

I wish I could say turn around.
And say, "See. There."

But even the turning of dervishes
Finds only release. Residues.

Sink back into the only known

The one constant in the heart, sky, and night.

Only, only, the one.
From which all love springs

And dances forth the worldplay.

Not an it, not a thing, only here in the being.

Springs forth luminous embracing silken threads.

Shining through every drop, every thought, everyone.

Fall back into the primal knowing.

You! I mean you! The common you.
The you that you mean when you say you.
You spring from it. See that.

It’s only a small shift of the I, and a tiny nudge from eternity.