We Are All Part Of Everything

The clouds slip sideways,

shape shifting lumps of inconstancy,

and the sun cuts through,

and there comes a moment

of absolute clarity,

bright and sharp and vivid,

and everything, everywhere,

all the world,

all of it,

is completely seen.

New leaves at the top of the poplar,

fuzz on the busy bumblebee,

emerald thrust of fresh grown grass,

orange riot of berberis flowers,

a shaded face in a bedroom window,

lichen on paving stones,

spider webs,

birdlime,

crows, flying,

all of reality,

all of this now, this here,

is as though seen

through magical glass,

through a crystal lens,

through some kind of mania,

or psychosis, or drugs.

Stark, startling, sparkling,

it seems, bright like a dream,

more than the real thing,

more than imagining.

And I sit there

and I look and look and look,

as though feasting

or gorging on the sight,

and I see all of it,

I really see it,

every little bit of everything,

and I love it so much

that I hope I never die.