it’s very simple: her love for me is,

it’s very simple: her love for me is,
eternal, while mine ever expands, then,
the stars pull in; good and gravitating,
romancing, bright, shining giving in
more, advancing, to account—but never
count—for all, as to the sun, nigh, brightest
—and the moon, whiteness from such righteousness,
obedience to a guiding light, quick
then, to disappear but reappear
at stages and phases, each one good sum
of what has come and telling of what
will to those whose mind heeds their heart; belief

is in life without deals; feelings to which
the mind yields, with or without consciousness.

now, what can we say of trouble learning:
angst is of the heart that it does not start,
when with it we set life and death apart—
simplest beginnings mark such simpler ends,
thoughts race each other, grace every lover
to see one and many meanings brought close
in one world and one won word, burning
by one most singular source one—believe
so as to so be, never to leave,
in most saved of states, sound and resounding
to all, straight and through and so high and true—
have mercy, gracefully, you, skies fly through—

life like light bright comes, takes away the night,
thereby, a state becomes a gate of might:

the mind minds what you think of thought
and its intricate schemes and themes,
so be sure what it contrives is naught but
praise for itself and the means to be;
so might is mindful of strength and power,
conscious of a way to reach the hour—
that period of stay, time forgotten,
where all that is pure is all-begotten—
it is as the network of the heavens,
the underground to the shy and oppressed;
infinite vastness beyond, all the while
man and men run, race each other

and find that neither can the other see
for all his worth nor all posterity.

nevertheless, beauty deserves treatment,
be it preventative, home remedy,
or lessons learned well from, for the moment—
to lift high spirits and bring ease today—
it’s from the manners come then the methods,
or the moods and then the modes and motives—
pace knows no bound, for instance, in that,
speed or go slow, the slower you’ll still go,
so, state is on the way, a case states so;
how many, how, where, when, which way forward—
and which way high, nigh, honored and true to who.

one confines time to himself to define
so let us broadly expand sound and sign;

significance is now so obsolete made,
so signification has nearly no place—
extraneous, external, indiscreet—
say, rather, sound is simply all we’ll see—
but conveniently do we convene
so what we hear near we feel—at once
are the heart and mind one, yet, fleetingly;
how dearly must one be to find in depths
of everything far and wide, needing nothing
but his whole heart to delve into, driving
in waves, rushing light to the eyes—it flies
within the wide chest’s embrace enclosing:

the signature, the infinite keying
to a set of ways, fates, and to being—

it is with everything then, everything
has a heart—but the inevitable,
the fate of a teacher is the unheard of,
the hustling, bustling, shining through,
silenced by nothing, nothing is hiding
but that within is residing the choice
to voice the soul and so to all reply.
now and then are matters you comply by
to show that the goal is on from on high,
but reality and duality
are in contradiction when the one, just,
is praised but not being followed in trust—

to set the stage, to speak, of the ways, then,
is to, for play, make out the days of men—

and what are they but twain and never twin,
say night and day are the same you won’t win
the one or the other, for both do sing
singularly but just one leads the way
while then the other near will always stay—
such art of following in all we’ll say
is marked by hallowing and breaths of air,
empty spaces filled with graces made, rare;
three, then, encases what is sound and fair:
the thought, the body, the soul, together,
the heart, the house, home, there for-forever,
and, time, the sign, the mind finds when-ever—

let each then retain their own distinct field,
so to measure each by what all will yield—