[Alternate title: Thanks.]
Ideas of you are circling round
silence is not the only sound, and
permission to not be profound
engulfs me like a flame.
I don't know I, I don't know you.
Panic here: then what to do?
I do not know. Just being with this,
This tasting of immortal kiss.
Trusting, too: these words aren't mine.
They're coming through some cosmic vine,
from places I don't yet call home,
as round this girdled earth I roam.
Bringing me back here and now -
the sounds and sense of mortal mind
that's cracking in remembering thine,
and knowing mine's your name.
This Brooking babbles on and on -
a liquid rant, a gurgling song.
A never-ending flowing force
that shows her name's true meaning:
Source.
Ideas of you are circling round
silence is not the only sound, and
permission to not be profound
engulfs me like a flame.
I don't know I, I don't know you.
Panic here: then what to do?
I do not know. Just being with this,
This tasting of immortal kiss.
Trusting, too: these words aren't mine.
They're coming through some cosmic vine,
from places I don't yet call home,
as round this girdled earth I roam.
Bringing me back here and now -
the sounds and sense of mortal mind
that's cracking in remembering thine,
and knowing mine's your name.
This Brooking babbles on and on -
a liquid rant, a gurgling song.
A never-ending flowing force
that shows her name's true meaning:
Source.