the squirrels still skitter

telling myself
how well i am doing
is just a cover
for a deficiency story

are you really a woman?
no.
are you the one who is not provided for,
or the one who is provided for?
no.
neither.

no concept can contain this

humor
feels like life to me

invisible
transparent
no thing...to stick to,
vanished...into thin air,
no location

dis appearance of "you",
of the you-niverse

hungry for this free-ness,
having tasted the scrumptious flavor
of invisibility,
of crumbling cement,
clearing out the closet,
a clean scrape

the squirrels are still wrestling, chattering
in the background,
not in the microphone

skittering,
untouched is,
kids will be kids
and a grown up does not fight this

her calm and quiet eyes remain
among the pranks
and recitation of ancient scrolls

but those eyes
are so vast

they encompass
every thing
that ever was
or is to be,
the farthest reaches,
the boundless empires
and chariots,
and not one finger is lifted
or needed
to change
one hoof beat

the stillness is impenetrable
by bullet,
tank,
or shield

no thing
has ever moved

the colors of God
are mine,
the coat of many colors
is not a shackle to my heart,
freer, bigger and clearer
than any wind
that has ever swept
this earth

oh yes,
the squirrels
do still skitter
every morning
at the break of day

and my fast remains constant,
no need to feed
what has no hunger