Pattern Love Poem!
When love itself comes to kiss you,
don’t hold back! When the king goes hunting,
the forest smiles. Now the king has become
the place and all the players, prey,
bystander, bow, arrow, hand and release.
How does that feel? Last night’s dream
enters these open eyes. We sometimes make
spiderwebs of smoke and saliva, fragile
thought-packets. Leave thinking to the one
who gave intelligence. Stop weaving,
and watch how the pattern improves.