To The Root of Itself
Music swims through music and through you,
and this is what you have now.
And this is how you live
adrift in transparency and derelict melody.
Is this the poverty you wished for secretly for so long?
The chapel of salt, the nothing inside of you?
Is this the blue and motherless honey that comes to you?
Now you are like the days undressed of their names.
Married to this elemental transparency,
it is as if you were never here at all.
You are like the snow that is only snow,
and the snow whose veiled and holy
irridescence belongs to no one.
