This illusory fleck

This illusory fleck

                                                                                              

You might be given a choice one day – art or truth. 

Surely, you’ll drop the attachment then

to language, inspiration, conceptual thinking;

take a bite out of that red bright, indisputable apple,

a mouth too full to speak.  Or in shrieks of laughter,

ankle-deep wade the mountain stream.

Like a holy roller on the pinewood floor,

bewilderment and incoherence your worship,

your life’s duty – not from any ecstasy

but from piety, sobriety and humility.

Wave from the flowing bridge; engage

in the marvelous activity of doing nothing

to understand and change this illusory fleck

you, as a person of words, have tenaciously explored

and so patently, obsessively, for yourself

and others, attempted to navigate and explain.

O child of God, if you are ever given the chance –

drop the words; kneel in awestruck silence.