Reflections

Your eyes light up
like the neon of a barroom that has
just opened.
You have opened your eyes
and let the light of truth
glimmer on their surface.
So you've missed me
the past two days?
So what?
It isn't until you assign
meaning to your yearning
that it actually means something to me.
Now I see it in your eyes
as they glimmer like the frosty lake
fiercely struck
by the morning sun.
A new day;
a new sun has risen;
I am holding it high above my head.
Now everything,
unrecognizable before today,
have become your bridesmaids.
The marriage of ideas with words
that accompany each other
down the aisles.
And now a tear
makes its way,
in a south-western course
across your peach blossom cheek,
back to where it came from,
the Great Salt Lake
from which we emerged.
This is when I realize you love me;
although the words are still busy
in their ceremony,
I see the reflection of the wedding
in your tear
as it drop, drop, drops
to the peppered pavement below.
And when that tear hits the ground,
I see many different pieces,
many different reflections
that collectively form
the puzzle of my life.
In one, the decay of time has
sagged our skin
closer to the ground
we will soon be buried in.
The grind stone of life, however,
has sharpened our minds, and
our knife-like love.
In another, we stand before a cross.
You kneel down and begain to pray
for the salvation
of our souls;
as I rub your shoulders with my
nail pierced hands;
the blood runs over your bared breasts.
In yet another, we sit
alone in an empty movie house.
It is dark like death.
The screen illuminates with life.
The movie starts where we meet
and ends when we die.
The credits roll.
The same actor played both you and I:
Life.
The last one I see, before you softly
embrace me,
is this:
The Buddha walks by us, and as he does,
he is throwing Dharma into the air.
We grasp for the Dharma;
like most Westerners, but it evades us.
It flutters above our heads with its
dove wings
getting closer and closer
to God,
and farther and farther away
from our reaches.
We still grab at it,
but all we have to hold is
each other.
It is now that you wrap
your loving,
pedagogical arms
around me.
For the first time, I am loved.

by Carl A.I.

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