The fourteenth of November
is hard to figure

Having sex, at its best,
is groundbreaking,
giving directions
from the core of star clusters,
operating the fluorescent possibilities
of Cosmic Mind;
the selfless Knowhow of Self

Dying is a Masterpiece
by everyone of us,
in the breathless letting go
in the no matter, no how

I wake up
in the middle of the night
to urinate,
and much is still here, undue,
when my bare feet walk my bladder
across the hall

Afterwards I fall back into myself
as the pipes whisper to a sudden stop
and the house resumes its position,
my makeshift understanding
of arrival & passage left on repeat