Dare you savour the rain, the salted thunderstorm
from the still waters of the midnight lake?
Would you waltz past the terrain of creation’s sparkling rave,
and sample the sorrow of a dreamer in the arms of nothingness?
You! What do you know about yourself
save the crumbs which herald the labour of your grave?
Would you laugh and praise the years of inherited nonsense,
or frolic insane to the Void womb of spheres twain?
Rain, the eternal autumn of the incising lens.
All life within a dream of a dreaming nullity which rests.
And it is this, this fractal light, this temporal chiming bell
which weeps and pains; for its very nature it cannot consign
to the embrace of the Genderless Mother
whose silence grieves and puzzles
even those of infernal descent.