Words cling to thoughts, like slaves within the mind,
Sequestered from the beauty all about,
When what they’re seeking is to not be blind,
To not be deaf, to find an exit out
Of self-bound apprehension. If the heart
Could lead your eyes, your ears, your tongue, the latch
Would lift to show the whole, not just the part
You waste your efforts on, trying to catch.
In stillness then send thinking out of sight:
Be the colours rushing in, a creature
Light as stars cast on the face of night,
Luminous and void of every feature;
Idle drift, and sweetly space floods through you
With a grace that never can be untrue.