Who has a great desire to unburden himself
Of all characteristics, weighs the odds
Of keeping something easy to remember
As though to stave off emptiness.
Who strains to hold the scattered motions to a
Form of steadiness and sincerity
Forgets and thinks of silence which is not a memory.
Who is lost and forced to locate the measure
Of some deeper knowledge, casts about for
Significance which must elude delineation
As only the isolated instant
May claim validity of perception.
There is no testament to serenity in the iteration of form,
Save the instant which precedes motion.
Continuity is in the light, succeeding the voice
Which is of one crying in the wilderness
In the throes of becoming.