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I.
Who has a great desire to unburden himself
Of all characteristics, weighs the odds
Of keeping one easy to remember,
As though to stave off emptiness.
Who strains to hold the scattered motions to a
Form of steadiness and sincerity,
Forgets and thinks of silence which is not a memory.
Who is lost and forced to locate the measure
Of some deeper knowledge, casts about for
Significance which must elude delineation,
As only the isolated moment
May claim validity of perception.
There is no testament to serenity in the iterations of form,
Save the instant which precedes motion.
Continuity is in the light, succeeding the voice,
Which is of one crying in the wilderness, in the throes of becoming.
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