I once coveted the morning dew, wishing my blood

[marga]

I once coveted the morning dew, wishing my blood
were made of it and just as sweetly

I once turned for answers to the velveteen Sky
but the light hurt my eyes
and now I see beyond all seen
apparitions both benign and insane

all at once I sensed the peculiar sting of wrongness
upon my lips and realized this, my instant end,
all around me and in me decay

it is sublimation
why? is it sublime? to see my own face reflected
in the vapor of the hour before a storm, to watch it fall
in the next

or maybe consumed myself by the temporal rages
and loves that forged the very image of this suchness
named me by worldly convention but by my constitution nameless

I unfold within me at every moment, a revelation of the seemly
void yet guard my only secret steadfastly like a jewel
so that even I know not what or whether it be.