When both wisdom and folly seemed not so different
from the calls of the crows carried on the breeze,
then you knew you were done with words.
Imagination makes a poetry of perception —
we each read it in our own silent language
and draw our own conclusions.
The after-world is empty until we arrive.
Then mind provides the cast of characters,
they are welcoming you with applause.
Look, you can see right through them!
You smile back, wistfully . . .
You know they are not there.
You remember the breeze, the bird calls.
Even without a form to claim, even now,
there are tears without explanation.
Don’t try to explain, don’t say a word.
The elegant light in the distance
is now behind you, you are
waiting to be born.