Aubade

a single blade of grass
is equal to the silkworm’s
resilient thread
unraveling
where rocks are tied
to transient clouds
and Samsara’s deepest cave and ocean
merge whilst
keeping us indelibly apart

your questing hands reach out
from nowhere
embrace the thought of me
when wild the lily
grows
with the naked dance
of ripened expectation
raw with exaltation

and if the mists of Avalon
should engulf the evanescence
that is ours,
the precious dove of separation
shall lie perished
in a warm zephyr
of breath
immortalized
knotted
silken totems
of crystalline fire
burning rites of passage