There was a brief opening in the soul
Lubricated by a little liquor
In I dove (or out I flew)
Up in the night's sky a canvas
One like a mirror, of reflection
The origin of all we know is ourselves
This then I came to know
Simply wayward comets careering
Trying to collide, but usually missing
I grant to you passage through an opening
But am just pierced, or passed through
Perhaps I am moved a little, but never enough
It is all but a repeated act, a dance
Today perhaps something or someone new
But tomorrow it will be just as before
M.M. — 17-Mar-2016
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