Needlefish
One truth I’m onto this late in
life,
gleaned from research and
abstractions:
Truth cannot be found
sifting through the ashes of
maya;
mulling over the minutia of
illusion;
polishing a tile to make a
mirror.
It’s not the sought-after
needle in a haystack
but more like a needlefish –
a creature totally at odds and
impossible
to the area of search.
To grasp the True from the
false, hands must be empty –
our hands too small to grapple
with both.
This is my sole discipline and
duty,
the whole rest of my life to
devote
toward the allowing of
illusion, by grace,
to slip through my tremorous
fingers.
O child of God, you spill words
onto the page
knowing they can never tell the
truth. 
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