Point

Do we comprehend reality?
That, finally, all we are
are faults in time, enough to pause
the relentless entropic urge,
but never to stop it?

All humanity has imagined
that it alone was the point,
all those nameless, greaseless corpses,
a poverty of sand and wind.

Who ever remembers them?

We have our own issues,
our own duty,
to create a universe
to be forgotten in its turn.

In that space

In that space between waking and sleeping
In the subtle slip, the drip
That turns the period into the comma,
In the hole in the zero
Whole worlds explode into being

The point between breathing
In and out
The curl of before and after
The warp and weft of here and now
Open the infinite wide

You say you know something
Of life and illusion
Please tell me how
Such emptiness
begets all eternity