Maybe Light

Is was
an infinite net of titillation

then came
(eventually quick)
a most persistent condition
—a lifelong concoction of boundaries
as if one viewpoint were all,

must only be
a flash in the pan,
a snapped glimpse from a river,
momentary serial reorientations,
spots between Is
and the wine dark sea

—to be caught apart starkly still
a lone log snagged on stone
while the river flows on
to We-Together-Are-One
is no fun

—eventually, if I-Am disappears
into We-Are-Not
without ever being We-Were,
is to miss the infinite possibility
of maybe, light —and love
(its corollary)
by Jim Culleny


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