Lost in a maze
with walls of
illusion,

I come here
to know the sound
of truth

and the dream of you

in chattering leaves
and the river's talent
for drama.

Water is a glutton
for light
and remnants of sky
with a greed that rivals
our own,

always swallowing infinity

and sneaking past all
the world's old stories
and its seductive pain
and absolute,
unquestioned
theater.

I know I heard you
in a gleeful lyre
played in some
long-ago dream
of fairy-winged lovers
and happiness.

We were happy there.

Give me nothing new
just something to
remember

beyond this,
beyond birth, beyond form,
above self,

fading into freedom.

In the glory of losing
it all,
I found you.

You are the shapeless
chants pouring life
into stones,

the drowsy waves of gold,
the few stars born too soon

and the moment I didn't know
the difference between
the river
and God's light.

You are everything
perfect
and never ending.

Patricia Joan Jones