Seeds don’t grow

They merely wait

On ripening trees,

Drying in the husks

Of grasses

Open eyed,

Innocent disciples of

Mother mystery.

Coming to a halt
Strategies acknowledged
They disappear…

The gate-less gate
Where the finite
Meets the infinite,
Is the doorway
To the pure
Inexplicable Domain.

God,
Carved in you a secret
But it would take offering
The entire cosmos
To disclose.

Here’s the madness of it all. The madness of attempting to meet my own solitude and the immensity contained within it.