What Is Truth?
My understandings come in bursts of light
Illuminating an expanse of imaginal plane.
My theories come in synchronicities and
instinctual leaps.
My truth comes in different shapes and sizes.
It is not free, but fluctuates
in tone and price.
Pretty butterflies may morph
into pre-archaic beasts
of mechanical flight
then fission into visions
throughout time and space
or coalesce into a perfect face.
Is there Truth?
A million tiny fire flies dance.
Packing up my picnic
I head on home to dream.
On my way
a willow tree
swaying magestically over open water
opens to a glimpse
of the frozen moon.
