benched

the vagrant hem of her skirt,
a few tatters hung yet on

to patch reality
where it had no hole,
no lack,
no gap

nothing but brilliance

the patch she thought was mending,
was but a bandage,
a bondage,
put across the face of the Sun!

can you imagine such a thing?!@
that this is our routine thought process?

rigor mortis

who can see death in the Source of Life,
darkness in the Source of Light?

this is no everyday chameleon

this is gross error
on a scale so vast
the only thing to do
is just
sit down
on the bench

yes, don't make one move.
you've done way more than enough.
lift not even your little finger

just sit there, dear,
can you do just
what you ask of your dog?

no more commands from you, sweetheart.
we did get a little confused for awhile

i'll let you know when its time to get up.
until then,
just sit,
watch,
listen...