Ailill
Beheld
Unfolding before your eyes
are states of mind that come and go,
mirrored in flashes of this life,
witnessing a self, as it beholds:
scents of incense on a breeze
hanging over early morning still,
bone barren trees, fallen leaves,
decomposing in winter chill.
Refuge inside, hermit-like,
ingrained in a breakfast bagel,
blueberries mingle, each bite
stains tongue into blue halos.
Saxaphone Jazz waves of Coltrane
playing ‘Soul Trane,’ swing in tune
to a medley of strumming sitar refrains
e-mailing mantras to the moon.
Cartoon sitcom scenes broadcasting
into the open window
of the t.v. screen; reflecting
fingers tapping the tango.
Table top romance,
engaged to a B flick movie,
tickled into a trance,
thoughts intrigued with the fantasies,
closet confessions hinted in depth;
double lives of Walter Mitty.
Theatrical daydreams secret,
classic Mysticism and Logic
reflections on existence.
Language stripped to the core,
laid bare, awareness of sense,
in order for mind to explore:
‘In the eyes of the beholder
lies keys to the self,
for self is a reflector
of what is beheld.’
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