Leaning back,
let us feel
the image of life,
another extension
of death.

*

The image and it’s
extended image
meet and cling,
brittle, dry mirror
breaks.

*

Once, a
reason,
now, a confluence
of several illusions,
fed on silence of oneness.

*

We hear the
inconsequential muse,
antique noises, numberless,
emptied, visionless eyes,
the wave decides: divides.

*

The despotic innocence,
clouds come near and go far,
the inexplicable mystery,
not a mere accident:
nor life nor it’s image.