Rooms

Skin, hair, pores—pour the ecstasy of touch,
gush the drafted air of spirit through form,
like light, lighting a lightning-fire of bulbous
expansions on the Ashoka rooms of existence
and samadhi sheers draping the window
pains. In the corners, crones mundane
reason—a burning relic—where the subsumed
identity yells, until the higher self makes squares
into lotus circles, crowns the flames with purple
waves, and creates new rooms for reality.

Copyright 2010 by Jennifer Hollie Bowles