Spring

9. SPRING
Mind like a flower,
a flower falling.
A candle in the basement.
Nothing is real
but there is a spring inside.

Waves breaking
still reflect the moon.
I erase myself
and songs echo.

Mind is an ocean.
Thoughts are its
waves breaking.
Awake at dawn,
thoughts unformed,
(before I remember
where I am)
the clear universe is shown.
A spring opens up.

Mind like a flower falling
blooming only to be blown
borne across the sky
unknown
living life as if it's not
a passing animal dream,
a poem,
a brief shelter
seen as home.
Mind like a falling flower
like a wide ocean
reflecting whatever
on its dark waves
in rows, unclear,
unending thoughts
distorting the only moon
the light from nowhere.
Beneath all this,
the liquid stone
beneath the fountains
and the road
all solid things I'm shown
a pool of placid water
pours in the windows
and nothing is impermeable.

The basement's flooded.
The walls are
groaning in the wind.
I leap beyond all this
into the water at night.
The spring keeps
opening wide.