tom taylor

our center

redeclines into the present scene without definition,
like paint which has a life of its own on the wall to
seem seen around which boundless joy attributes the
line between thought and action today in the skies

moment of definition when the hand chooses to speak
in the hour after dawn while the body still sleeps its
dreamless dream again you walk toward me in white
the doorway open into another realm of streaming light

although our center comes with instructions to follow
into the gloom we light together in the unstructured
hours and days of actions without words or songs but
clear to anybody who looks where the matter lies again