Wrack

I see the circular sentences
      Laozi watched human Will write
            athwart the wordless Way
The Ocean the eyes of Krishnamurti saw
      in the four directions of sky, sand, and sea
            as his voice fell toward
                  the quiet that is not Silence
                        and intimates steadfastly unanchored in What Is
                              circled in and down to clutch him
                                    with memory, pen,
                                          and urn

The illumination of these men, the Illumination.
Floats from its Net wash up upon the shores of Language
This poem is one
And if you would be free
Traffic in them not
But understand That of which they do, do not, and cannot portend,
Cast them back,
And walk on.


April 21–30, 2005 Copyright © 2005, 2018 by David Newkirk. All rights reserved.
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