the room still looks like you
it’s a mess and all the pictures on the shelf are
dusted off by someone else
to keep me company
i haven’t told her that your thought still lingers on

everyday’s another chance to bury my regret
everyday’s another chance to make it but i can’t
but i can’t

i saw you on my phone
on a contact list that isn’t up to date
would have changed it with more time
that i require to
rid my mind of all the freckles on your face

and reconcile to what?
the ring i bought you is buried deep within the ground
behind the swing where we first met
and memory only serves
to remind of all the bruises you forgave

should i decide it’s true
that you’d return if given half the chance to come….

but it’s not true

[william fitzsimmons.
your words could easily be one of his songs.]

And this “matter” out of which our forms are made –
What are these dancing particles of condensed radiance,
Are they an illusionist’s projection?

What is this power we call Life,
appearing as the play of flesh and breath?
How may I know this mystery and enter it more deeply?

Beloved, my attention is ensnared by a myriad of forms,
the innumerable individual entities everywhere.

Lead me into the wholeness beyond all these parts.

You, who hold the mysteries in your hand -
of will, knowledge and action,
Reveal to me the path of illumined knowing.

Lead me into joyous union
with the life of the universe.

Teach me that I may know it fully,
realize it deeply,
and breathe in the truth of it.

The Radiance Sutras